Sisters of Sodom

Instead, Gary had foolishly followed the wrong impulse. That the wellbeing of his precious pythoness eclipsed all other priorities in his life wasn't news, of course. And it was this eminent concern that ferried him quite prematurely from his office to his front door.

His fate had been sealed the minute he walked in. The sight of a battered, disheveled blob of a woman, naked and staggering towards the bathroom, could never be un-seen, This they both knew. But what Gary hadn't known at the time was that his initial look of mortification was the only thing that had prolonged his life beyond that point.

At first he had barely recognized her as the fiery goddess of his passions, turning his eyes away from the sight, muttering words of disbelief. This Eudora fully understood, even respected. Yet where she'd secretly hoped that the man could muster the self-worth to rightfully scorn her deformed image, he then disappointed her vividly.

Tears, really? And whimpering? Vile.

Why had he walked towards her then? Why did he sob, rather than scorn? Why were his words conciliatory, rather than blunt? In her mind, she had been made ugly, plain and simple. And had Gary simply had the balls to tell her that, perhaps he'd still be breathing. Perhaps.

She could remember the exact moment when she'd flipped on him. It was the moment where, after the initial shock had simmered, he had opened his arms wide, ready to draw her enormous jiggling torso towards a sympathetic embrace.

There was nothing more disgusting in the world to Eudora than pity. Acceptance of ugliness was the ultimate insult to true beauty, the kind of which she had momentarily lost but still planned to regain very soon. Someone so disgustingly bloated and broken should never be accepted, she believed, even if that person was her her. So she could never have let that man live. No, that shameful memory would have to die with him.

As she tromped over the last Ethiopian sand dune, she thought back to how Gary's murder itself had played out. The plan had been a cinch. The police, as she'd hoped, had been easily turned away despite the broken windows, noise complaints and questionable carpet stains. Typical lazy bastards; sometimes all you need a smiling, clueless busty blonde like this one on your side, she thought as she glanced over at Sølvi.

Then she recalled the subsequent two whole days she'd spent holed up in the panic room with the corpse of the private chef, working herself up to the horrific deed.

Once ready, she'd sent Sølvi to the grocery store to pick up a large list of things. It was a list of extremely random, obscure and in some instances fictional items that no normal modern person would take seriously, but the unwordly viking girl had merrily gone about her strange task all the same. Besides, Sølvi thought it a privilege to be allowed to leave the house on her own...perhaps it meant that the "pretty heks" had begun to trust her, yes?

And then there was the necessary deed done in her absence. The end of Gary's trivial life had been fittingly undramatic. A simple spell of incineration had done the trick. Eudora had made it quick, mostly because she did not want to risk being discovered. The poor businessman's ashes were quickly swept up—the first time Eudora had used a broom in ages, contrary to witch stereotypes—and deposited in the trash compactor.

Eudora still felt nothing in the aftermath, and probably never would. The act hadn't afforded her the sick pleasure she usually felt from such murder, but there was no particular remorse either. It was as about as emotional as, well, taking out the garbage.

With the body gone, all that had been left to do was fool a fool. Upon returning mostly empty-handed from the store, a guilt-ridden Sølvi had been treated to a lavish lie. Eudora had made sure to juice it all up with a little fake weeping and some nonsense about "realizing her love" for the "kidnapped" Gary. Of course, the valiant and sentimental Sølvi had fallen for all this completely, and was more than willing to help retrieve the man.

But ah, that was all in the past now.

This morbid montage flashing through her mind reached its natural conclusion just as she reached the gates. Oddly, they were unguarded and unlocked, which bothered her more than if the opposite had been true.

And as she now passed through them into the hall, her Viking companion began to feel a twinge of uncertainty—something wasn't adding up. She couldn't consciously figure what was causing this feeling, but it didn't matter; she was now in the proverbial belly of the beast, and had to see this through.

Sølvi instinctively drew her large battle-axe from the sheath strapped across her back, her wintry eyes narrowing as she gripped it with both hands. Eudora did the same, retrieving her heavy shovel from its sling and slowing her movements.

The first thing that struck them both was the immaculate silence of the place. It was eerie and unnatural-seeming. Large white marble walls encircled them, spiraling upwards to a tapered peak that loomed a mile high.

"Is this it?" Eudora mumbled, looking around. She saw no stairs, no other doorways. The hole she'd blown in the upper window was still there, but there was no accompanying parapet; whoever was shooting at them had the ability to hover magically, and this troubled her deeply.

Sølvi sniffed the air a moment, then got down on her hands and knees. She placed her nose to the polished floor, furrowing her brow.

"Hmm. I smell something...how do you say it...muggen lukt..."

"What? English, damn it!" Eudora exclaimed impatiently.

"I think you say it's a...musty smell," Sølvi said, drawing some vague kind of stale steam into her nostrils. "And this floor...it has a warm spot, much warmer..." she said, feeling around until her hand landed on a panel that gave off an uncomfortable amount of heat.

"There is something beneath it."

"Stand back," Eudora said, readying her shovel. When the viking girl moved aside, Eudora chanted the words: "Veiasi Ae Ġớhme!" and the tool in her hands began to vibrate with sacred energy.

She then brought the shovel down on the tile, busting it open. Blisteringly hot air rushed up to meet them, blowing them both back several feet. The silence of the room was broken by the howling sound of the moist wind that gusted up.

Beyond the gash in the floor lay another, smaller chamber of some sort. The geyser of hot air eventually settled, but the view of the room below was still wavy with refractive heat. Seeing this,

A wild look flashed in Sølvi's eyes now. "Tyr!" she yelled, brandishing her axe and leaping down the hole fearlessly.

"Wait, what the fuck are you doing, Sølvi?!" Eudora yelled after her. That crazy bitch has no concept of strategy whatsoever, she thought to herself angrily. She heard a thump, then the sound of clashing weapons.

Ugh, I guess I better get down there...

Eudora sprung off her tip-toes into the hellishly hot room below. She descended about 15 feet, the impact rocking her sacklike body as her feet hit the floor. After wincing discomfort, she then looked around.

Directly ahead of her were six lanky women bearing long fishhook-like spears. They wore dark gray jumpsuits, their faces obscured by large wooden masks resembling the sneering faces of jackals. Sølvi was locked in battle with them, fighting fiercely but clearly outnumbered.

One woman lanced her spear through Sølvi's leg, ripping it back out quickly so that its angled prongs caused her more pain. The Viking girl did not cry out, however, her battle rage growing as she lunged towards the woman and cleanly sliced her masked head off with a swift arc of her axe.

With another arc, she slammed her axe head into the breast of the other woman nearby who had been advancing on her, killing her immediately. They both fell forward, collapsing on the floor.

"Hey!" Eudora yelled, momentarily startling the remaining four guards. "You bitches just fucked with wrong witches..." she said, conjuring up dark energy in her hand. She held it out, tucking her thumb tightly, and from her fingertips shot four red-hot beams that struck the guards before they could even react.

It lit them up like jack-o-lanterns, incinerating them slowly from the inside. Their screams of pain invigorated Eudora, though they disturbed her Viking companion. This was no ordinary way to kill a foe, Sølvi knew. Those beams did not kill mercifully; they were meant to cause extreme, slow agony. Only dark magic could cause such anguished cries.

"P-please...pretty heks...that is an ignoble death...put them out of their misery..." Sølvi started, her blood-spattered face looking severely distressed. "They are just guards..."

"Screw them! If they had their way, we'd be dead. Save your compassion for your fucking birds," Eudora barked, reveling in the sight of those writhing, slowly burning bodies that were now pleading for mercy in some language she could not understand, and did not want to.

Sølvi shook her head in confusion, her arms trembling and silver eyes twitching. Why was she truly here? Was this punk pythoness's unexplained drama really her business? It was in this moment that she felt a spike of true regret for having left her humble home.

She thought of her trusty Lysvinge, dutifully scanning the hills in anticipation of her return, and watching over the fortress. This strange, sun-baked place felt so alien to her...

"Ugh, it's hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night in here," Eudora quipped, interrupting the girl's thought.

A giant sweat stain had formed at the back of punk pythoness's shorts, and the clammy feeling between her dumpy butt cheeks agitated her. Sølvi just continued to stare in confusion, the cries of the guards reaching a crescendo. She couldn't take it anymore.

With tears in her eyes, Sølvi brought her axe up and severed the guards' heads, one by one, in the hopes of ending their suffering. Their cries then ceased, but Eudora had already lost interest in the whole thing, walking casually past the emotion-wracked young girl and towards the stairway that lead down into some kind of dark corridor.

When she reached the stairs, a fetid stench filled her nose. It was the smell of death. She knew it well.

"How interesting..." she heard from the darkness.

The voice sounded oddly familiar in its deep resonance. It was a woman's voice, and she was somewhat relieved that it wasn't Ayaka's. Still, it was not one should could immediately place.

"Come to visit, little Eudora?"

"Huh?"

"Yes, I know it's you. That same brackish energy...it's unmistakable."

"Who the fuck are you?!" Eudora yelled into the rancid, sweltering abyss. "I came here for the crown—I mean...I came here for my boyfriend! Hand it over!"

Laughter echoed around her, then there was a pause. Sølvi stood frozen, not with fear, but with reluctance. She looked at Eudora. Her friend. She was her friend, right? Did Eudora say something about a crown, or had she misheard?

A stranger suspicion began to creep into the young Viking girl's mind, but she ignored it. She wanted to believe Eudora was like her—rough around the edges, yes, but pure of heart.

But the way the punk pythoness spoke so foully of everyone, and everything, it didn't make sense. This was beyond ordinary battle-hardened roughness.

And now, the display of excessive cruelty she witnessed reminded her of what were called the "old gods." The meaner, more sadistic ones of distant lore, which her people had once prayed to in darker times, but came to reject in times of peace. Suddenly the mysterious voice grew in volume.

"You have forgotten me, little Eudora Cosgrove? And here I thought you were here to catch up. It's been a while, you know..."

The staircase finally lit up, curving to the left. Eudora still could not quite figure why this voice pricked her memory in such an elusive way, but it unnerved her. She turned to Sølvi and silently waved for her to follow her down the stairs.

Sølvi blinked, almost protesting, but decided to trust her companion. She at least trusted her more than whatever strange woman owned this fortress, and there was no going back now.

The two of them descended the stairs to find themselves in a long narrow hall. The smell was now almost unbearable, and as they looked up, they finally saw the reason why.

The emaciated, dead or dying bodies of over two hundred women—all pythonesses, by the looks of them—were hanging from hooks that dangled from the ceiling. These hooks that pierced their flesh not only suspended them, but also seemed to serve a second purpose that was not yet clear.

"H-herregud!" Sølvi exclaimed, her eyes taking in the horror. It was a sight she knew she could never forget; neatly-arranged rows of naked, withered women, their beauty mutilated, the flesh of their their torsos and limbs obscenely stretched and run through with thick curved barbs. Dried feces and blackened blood clung to their legs.

This was a human slaughterhouse, she knew, and even her pure spirit felt immediately tainted by the mere knowledge that such a place could exist.

"S-some of them...are still alive! We must help them!" the Viking girl cried, her mind racing. The women were only a few feet above them, although she had no idea what plan of action to take, especially since her healing magic had been spent making that barrier earlier.

"Priorities, Sølvi. There's suffering all over this world. You can't save everyone..." Eudora said, trying to hide her own mild shock at the sight of all of those defeated pythonesses who groaned wordlessly or hung lifeless above them.

She even recognized a few of them; there was Constanza, a formidable Peruvian goth she'd sparred with in training years ago. There was Handan, the strangely bubbly Hungarian pythoness who often bragged about memorizing all the sacred literature word-for-word; Phaedra, the quiet and sullen Danish witch who drank like a fish.

They all were once exceedingly beautiful, but no more. The few who were unfortunate enough to still have a pulse were nothing but skeletal puppets dangling from those torturous strings.

"But, pretty heks—" Sølvi started, but she was interrupted by the appearance of someone at the end of the hall. It was a startlingly tall woman, with skin nearly the shade of obsidian and clothes starkly white.

The minute Eudora laid eyes on her, she felt her heart begin to race. She feared no pythoness, yes, but this woman was more than that. This she knew for sure.

"You!" Eudora blurted in confusion as the woman advanced quickly. Sølvi lifted her giant axe and readied it in anticipation; if Gary was really being kept here, it was obvious she'd have to go through this strange woman to save him.

The impenetrable heat in the room moved Sølvi to ditch her tunic; it would only hinder her movements in battle anyway. She quickly unbuckled her belt and then tossed her clothing aside, leaving her in nothing but an armored bra and a reinforced loincloth, her gigantic penis just barely tucked away behind it.

"Yes, me. And who is your friend, Eudora? This is not a regular witch..." the woman said before slowing down her trajectory and looking into Sølvi's eyes. The young Viking witch could immediately feel intense evil energy flowing from this woman, and she tensed her muscles.

"Ah, I see! An Eir witch. Very interesting...there are not many of you left in this world, are there? I remember when you were more numerous, several hundreds of years ago."

Sølvi said nothing in response, trembling slightly at the intonation of the woman's voice. Something about her energy was uniquely intimidating, so much so that even the brave Viking girl was at a loss for words.

"And I see your name is..." the woman paused, putting her hands to her temples, "Sølvi. I see. Child, I do not know why a healer witch such as yourself would be traveling with a woman like Eudora here. Whatever she's gotten you up to, I promise you, she has deceived you. No respectable Eir witch would ever accompany such a corrupt soul...you should leave now while you can."

Sølvi parted her lips, but in her confusion could not think of anything to say. If the woman took a step closer, she would be within striking range, but was she really her enemy? She needed to know.

"Where is Gary?" Sølvi asked forcefully.

"Who?" the woman in white asked, her onyx eyes now flying to to the punk pythoness. "I know of no such person. Is this another one of your elaborate lies, Eudora?"

Eudora shook her head, putting on her best act. "No lies, Makeda. It's all true. You took my lover, and you know it. You jealous bitch! Give him back, now!"

"I find it hard to believe that you even have such a precious boyfriend," the woman replied. "I see your body has gone through some interesting...changes, Eudora. He certainly can't be into you based on your looks, unless he's unusually openminded...or desperate."

"Fuck you!" Eudora screamed. After all her ordeals, she no longer had the cool disposition that allowed her to think clearly in battle. She flew into a rage at this comment, extending her arm to send her most powerful attack towards the woman: "Öschĩƶ Ɇret Ŵa Ǭala!"

A large bolt of red lightning fired from her palm. But it was nothing more than a carnival trick to the woman known as Makeda. She waved it away as if brushing away a mosquito, and it dissipated before even reaching her.

"My dear. I remember how hard you struggled to learn that spell, years ago. Seems you've got it down, but you certainly didn't think I would teach you everything, did you? There's a reason why I abandoned you. Your temper. You may think it's your strength, but it is your weakness. And I have no time for weakness..."

Without moving, Makeda willed Eudora's hair to catch on fire. It went up in a large blue flame, and the startled punk pythoness clawed at her burning head desperately.

"Pretty Heks!" Sølvi cried, turning to her. She frantically tried to conjure up one last burst of healing energy to put out the fire, but Makeda was already two steps ahead of them both, and sent cast a spell that sent the Viking girl flying back against the wall. The force pinned her there, her physical resistance useless against the immense magical power Makeda wielded.

By this point, Eudora's flesh had begun to melt. Her screams filled the air as Makeda steadily fried her scalp, and then, as quickly as it began, the fire was extinguished by the very same quiet act of will.

"This is the part where you beg me to spare life," Makeda said, reaching behind her to pull out a long Winchester rifle. She cocked it and aimed it directly at the punk pythoness who was still writhing in pain on the floor, her head and face melted almost beyond recognition.

"Guns are forbidden in witchcraft, you poser! The Divine Ones will never accept you as High Pythoness when they find out—" Eudora started, the sound of her defiant own voice the only thing making the pain tolerable.

"Now you're beginning to sound like one of the Old Guarders, Eudora. Do you really think I fear the Divine Ones? Let me make you aware of something. Do you see all of those bodies I have hanging above you?"

Though she didn't want to, Eudora could not help but glance again at the vast macabre menagerie hanging over her head with a mixture of awe and unease.

"Those hooks are not just there for show, little Eudora. They steadily sap the life energy out of every witch in my collection. Their energy goes straight to me, siphoned through a special distortion of the 'rules' that I have devised."

"What the fuck?! Impossible!"

"You always were limited by the possible, weren't you Eudora. Well. I won't bore you with details, but needless to say, I already have limitless power. The Divine Ones do not even know this, but they will soon, when I acquire the true throne. That starts with you handing over your precious artifacts. And your friend. I am sensing now that she has one of them as well. Give them all to me now, both of you, and perhaps I will let you live."