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The plan is I can have the insane killer Salem occasionally pop up in stories and face superheroes and villains, stealing their powers and subject them to whatever they usually lord over others -  Let me know any supers you'd like to see get into serious trouble.

Right now I think I am going to work on a multi part story inspired by a favorite kids movie. 

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   Salem was hard at work, a revelation that would have come as a surprise to a host of friends, relatives, teachers, and parole officers. It came as a surprise to Salem herself, for the few moments she could hold onto anything at all. Mostly, she worked. She was wearing sweatpants she had found somewhere, and a black T shirt falling apart not from the stylish rips she might have been seen in a few months ago, but simple disintegration.  Her body was trending from slim towards gaunt, her large breasts looking even more improbably on the thin frame. Her bra was not cute. Her pink mohawk hung limp before her eyes, idly tossed out of the way when she needed to focus on building... whatever she was building. Whatever she was doing. Nothing about this was okay, but trying to focus on the problem was... difficult. That seemed to be the new in thing, since everyone around her was doing the exact same project, with the same zombie gaze. Salem had no way to know it, but the entire city was doing much the same. Few came here, to a half abandoned industrial city in the Midwest, least of all the kind of super heroes who so often spoiled the best laid plans. It was the perfect location for the H.I.V.E Queen, and the people populating it were her workers now.

  It was the Queen Bee's visit to supervise the project that awoke Salem from her daze. As the door slammed open, Salem stood blinking dumbly at the figure striding her direction, and imperious smirk across her face. Though Salem not easily intimidated, the woman striding towards her was an impressive figure, and Salem unconsciously stepped out of her view. Tall, graceful and lean, the woman had the physique of a runway model, long honey blonde hair, an easy athleticism that was enmeshed in black and gold armor, eschewing her usual gray for the bee pattern she had named herself after. A silver crest encircled her head, amplifying her mind control abilities and ensuring the teeming hordes of the small city continued to slave for her.  A procession of armed men walked alongside her, well muscled and attractive males tending to her every need and ensuring she was always well protected. Her hand flew over a tablet, feeding it reams of data and allowing her to keep in contact with every part of the city she controlled. A device would soon be ready that would allow her to spread her control hugely farther, expanding her hoard of drones into an unconquerable army. It was on the very cusp of her finest triumph that it all went wrong – she walked into a building, like a hundred others. The Queen paused, her eyes flashing with rage as her tablet crashed, the unnoticed workers around her shaking their heads groggily. Salem though, Salem was smiling. Unfortunately, things were about to go very wrong for the Queen Bee.


  The sunrise slowly lit a scene of unbridled hedonism. The Queen lay passed out in stained bee themed lingerie, her horde of protectors laying sated in piles around her and Salem. Desserts and fine dining lay strewn around the room, the finest room in the finest hotel in the entire shithole city. Some of the men had brought Salem's entire wardrobe and apartment furnishing and strewn them about the room, and the woman of the hour was licking the icing off her fingers, after devouring a cupcake baked by perhaps the finest baker in the city. Elsewhere, the Bee woman's projects burned. Salem was feeling more like herself by the minute, but even better, she was feeling more like a supervillain by the minute. She had arranged the finest in dominatrix chic for herself, fishnets and boots, vinyl corset and skirt. Looking the part had never been her problem to begin with – but the power, there was the problem. Now she could feel it, flowing through her... the woman who had provided it kneeling at her feet. Queen Bee was learning what it meant to serve, and she didn't like it one bit.

  Salem had always felt some kind of connection to those around her. She knew she was stronger than them, and she knew she deserved to be. Even as a kid she had known, from the first ant she stepped on, the first kid she kicked. Something in her fed on these little people, their little fears. But when true power had walked in range, she knew immediately what was only a hint, a fancy, among the little people around her. She had felt that power flow into her and fill her, before the Goddess before her had even an inkling she had been dethroned. Salem had a city dancing to her whims, and a goddess as her slave, her own mind control usurped and turned on her. Even now she could hear the enraged woman in her mind, stronger than the others. Salem had let the Bee keep control of her mind, if not her body. The woman raged helplessly over the indignities Salem had forced her to endure, over the collapse of her plans, over her helplessness, and over the “small minded and petty” uses to which Salem was putting her power. Salem told the Bee woman to start slapping herself. Small minded and petty could be mighty satisfying.

   The problem with being a goddess is, in the end, it is a little boring. Salem had never been a good person, and absolute power was not improving her moral fiber. She'd been doing this for a week now, and frankly it didn't offer much challenge. The first day had been a soaring flight of hedonism and pleasure, a parade of the choicest men and women of the city, doing whatever pleased her moment to moment. By day three she was using them as toys in whatever scenario amused her, depraved or hilarious by turns. By day five she didn't mind when one of her toys broke beyond repair. By day six she summoned her most hated enemies and lined them up before her. Tom, the ex boyfriend who had cheated on her. The wide eyed little goth girl he had done it with. Sandy, a blonde cheerleader who had got her kicked out of school after calling Salem a slut and getting the bitch slap she deserved for it. Her parole officer, a stocky brunette woman Salem had always half suspected wanted to sleep with her, but had reacted with rage when she suggested it. The father who had molested and beat her until she left. The mother who had let him, mousy and sad. Kim, the best friend who had fallen into heroin and stolen nearly everything Salem owned – painfully thin and terrified. She had simply ordered them all to stop breathing, and she had a separate slave film each of them in loving detail as they thrashed, then jerked, then slowed. Her only regret was she couldn't record the thoughts she read as each one died... she luxuriated in them, enjoying every moment. There was something amazing there, something she could feel from her head to her toes, an electric buzz. Even bumble (the ex Queen's new pet name) was horrified, and Bumble didn't horrify easy. So what? Bumble was a smart girl, and after Salem ordered her to explain what was going on, she had all kinds of technical information she couldn't help but share about what Salem's power was and how it functioned – siphoning off the power of any mutant who is close enough and stealing for herself. Salem didn't ask about what she felt when someone died. It was her mystery to work out, and she would with time.

   By week three, Bumble was getting annoying. She was loud in Salem's mind, she was constantly enraged, and she was constantly trying to manipulate Salem into some scheme or other. Workers were for conquest and production, not games and debauchery. Salem knew better though. She knew something deep and pure flowed through her when she took her toys over that final edge. What use is building for the future when the end sits so close, every second? The only mystery left was death, and Bumble was no use there. Frankly, Bumble wasn't even good in the sack. Not a giver by nature. It was that Salem couldn't shut her out that was worrying. She could shut out anyone else in the city, but Bumble just stayed in her head, yammering away. Salem could shut her up for awhile with threats or whatever wildly shameful performance she could send her off to do, but she always came creeping back. Bumble might just be hiding a sting. A glint of power remaining. It was, really, long past time to squash her. Salem considered this for awhile, then came back to the game, sending her Bishop to remove an annoying pawn. It was hard to tell who was more horrified, the bishop (a real clergyman of some sort) or the shivering cashier serving as the pawn, a young African immigrant, all wide eyes and dark skin. Their combined terrors played through salem's mind like a shadow play as he approached the hyperventilating woman. The bishop arrived, then drove a dagger into the frozen woman's heart. Everyone had their part to play, and they played them precisely as Salem wished. She watched as the young woman's eyes rolled up, feeling the rush fill her; but the mystery remained unsolved.

  A week later, it was Bumble who was screaming in Salem's mind. She looked perfectly calm, carried on a platform by four of her favorite lovers, towards a specially made car crusher in the local dump. But oh boy was she going nuts inside, demanding she be freed, raging that Salem had conquered only a fraction of her abilities, that she would come back and destroy Salem, on and on. She was nude now, deeply beautiful, as she had been since the day Salem first saw her. The hint of fear, the sheen of sweat, only made the blonde beauty more alluring. It was almost enough to make Salem pause the enterprise... but that game had passed. By the time they were setting her down in the crusher, she was getting hysterical. You can keep panic out of your voice, but not your mind... the fear of the woman was delicious. She had used Salem like a nail in a toolbox, and now she was about to get what she deserved. “Wait!” the woman cried in her head, razor focused on the message“If I die, we don't know what could happen to your powers! We need to do more research!”. Ha! Another six months of research, no doubt. Six months to try and pick at Salem's defenses. Salem herself rode her own platform, carried by dozens, imperious in a head to toe black leather dress, stitched to fit her body by the finest tailors, as tight and supple as a glove, her makeup done by the best in the city, hair a post apocalyptic shock of pink aggression.

“Sorry Bumble, No more buzzing in my ear. It's been swell watching you ride your ponies though, hon.” Salem allowed the soon to be dead woman a blush, enjoying the rush of blood to the H.I.V.E. Queens features. Salem  had ordered the crusher specially constructed from hard, clear plastic, allowing her to view and film the entire process. Salem kneeled before the crusher, peering in at the supervillainess as she turned the machine on, listening to the jumble of screams and begging rushing into her head, so chaotic compared to Bumble's usual crisp, clear thoughts. “You shouldn't have tried to command ME, Bumble.” Salem grinned at the trapped woman, allowing her control of Bumble's body to drop for the first time since she gained the woman's powers. The Queen leaped at the locking roof of the crusher, but it was too late. The top of the box was already pushing down, slowly forcing the Queen to her knees, her hands above her head, trembling as they pressed against the roof. Did the Queen have super strength? Salem had honestly never thought to ask, but she was pretty sure she would have stolen that power too. Bumble was still rambling on about research being needed in Salem's head, mixed in with whatever other pleas and random thoughts flowed through her had – memories of triumphs, near misses she had escaped, a whole history of conquest and villainy. Salem rocked back on her heels, thrilling at the parade of thoughts and feeling. More research probably was a good idea, but this was just too fun to stop! The Queen was on all fours now, her eyes wild as she was pressed tight to the floor, then further still, her breasts pressed flat on the floor. It was pure panic, and Salem was lost in pleasure as she felt her enemies fear flow through her. It was so clear, clearer than any normal humans. The side walls began to close in, and the Queen screamed out loud now. Salem watched hungrily as Bumble's arm snapped, the chaos of her thoughts turning into a sort of panicky, overwhelming static. For the first time, Salem could feel the certainty of death in the Queen, the real terror. It was going too fast now... she could distantly feel the Queen's bones snapping, see the way her body twisted and shifted under the growing pressure, then begin to split, painting the clear plastic red and the screams turned to shrieks, then died in a series of crunches and pops. The voice in her head rose in pitch, becoming a wordless, thoughtless cry, then shut off forever.

  Salem collapses onto her back, gasping. Nothing she had ever experienced had been better, nothing closer. She moaned softly, processing the experience, running a hand through her pink shock of hair. She would absolutely have to do that again... it had been a thousand times better than killing her childhood enemies. The power of these supers made them hit like missiles when they died. Like absorbing a lightning bolt. She opened her eyes as she lay, and found herself looking at a crowd of workers, gathered close around her. She looked from face to face, taking in their grim expressions, the rage in their eyes. Gathering her powers around her, she found herself...unarmed. The mutant power had died with the Queen, and with no power to siphon off, her control had died with her. Whatever the Queens death had granted Salem, her power was not included. She sat up, her face suddenly nervous as she looked between the men. She watched as one of the men drew a wrench from his pants, his grin mirroring the one she herself had as she took her own revenge on the ex Queen. Salem gathered her legs beneath her, raising her arms in supplication. “Hey now – why don't we talk about this?” She said, suddenly very nervous indeed. She was pretty sure a few of these guys had survived her last chess game. Not many had.

  She smiled to the crowd reassuringly, almost rising to her feet. “I killed the Queen for you, and now I can reward you all...” she began, then the wrench smashed down on her leg, and it was her own turn to scream. She fell with a howl, feeling the kicks beginning to slam into her sides, her broken leg, her breast. She tasted her own blood as the wrench cracked down on her jaw, and she felt her own thoughts begin to fragment into the familiar screams and cries and begging as something else popped in her back. Frantically, she reached out as hard as she ever had, looking for some kind of power, some kind of healing, groping in the darkness as another scream was wrenched from her, her shoulder snapping with a blow as she felt herself lifted, hair pulled, dress clawed, and then thrown. She slid through a pile of gore, gasping and crying out in pain. It took her a moment to realize where she was.

They had opened the crusher again. She tried to stand, her tight leather dress restricting her motion as she slipped on the gore of her predecessor, then her broken leg gave way and she hot the floor hard. She watched the roof snap into place, a soft gasp escaping her. She could feel the desperation filling her as the roof slowly approached, her breasts heaving as she squirmed uselessly, trying to find purchase in the slick remains of the Queen. This shit is NOT to plan! It's not FAIR! She screamed as the top rested on her breasts, pressing her flat as it had the Queen before, and the walls began to close. NO! She screamed in rage at the crowd, then felt the walls hit her, felt her own arms begin to crush into herself, the first of her ribs snap. It was with that howl of pain that her still seeking power found what it was after. Healing! She was saved! Nothing could stop her now!

 Everything was drowned out as the pain overtook her, her bones grinding then popping, the screams filled her head. Why wasn't she healing? She couldn't die now, like this! Bones ground through her flesh, plowing rivers of pain, and she felt again what the Queen had felt, so close now, inescapable and overwhelming and beyond horror, beyond unendurable. She felt her mind start to wink out in a blaze od panic and screaming nerves, and one last shriek of rage and pain...

***


 They threw her body in a shallow grave, and if the existence of a body at all was a surprise after being crushed into a paste, no one commented. She healed slowly, but she healed nonetheless. It was days before she could think again, a week before she could drag herself free of her shallow grave, her rotted dress flapping ragged against her body. It wasn't until every face she could remember in the crowd was dead that she started to feel her mind was healed. She understood now. So long as she treated death well, death would treat her the same. All it asked was she feed it. She laughed to the uncaring moon, wiping a bloody wrench against her naked body. 'I am become death, destroyer of worlds” she whispered. Then she reached out, seeking another power to steal, another life to offer her new goddess.
Working on the start of a fun ongoing series, taking on various superheroines and villainesses via my alter ego. Everyone does it sooner or later, but I hope to do it well. :)  First should be up in the next few days!

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    Jen was having the time of her life. Losing the palatial house she was raised in had been too bad, but getting the insurance and inheritance money had been more than worth it. Losing the occupants of the house didn't bother her at all. Her parents had been a bore for as long as she could remember, and waiting for them to die just hadn't been an option in the end. There was too much fun to be had, and too little money in the stipend her parents allowed her. The fire had been the best thing that ever happened to her, and if she had helped it along, who could blame her?

 Her new house was even better anyway, and without parents it was the best place in the city for a party, if you could get an invite. This one was finally winding down after a couple days, and that was probably for the best, considering she hadn't slept since it started. Still, the music was bumping and there were still a few good looking guys around. Jen could count on the pick of the party... tanned, thin, shoulder length hair bleached almost silver and all of 19, she was sporting a pink fishnet top, skintight black vinyl pants and bra, and a glittery rainbow of violet eye shadow and lipstick; the better to stand out in an already wild dance party. Plus, she was rich and everyone knew it. Pills and music were keeping her going, and that was enough for now. She smiled in the direction of a muscled hunk in a crop top, and made her way towards the now grinning man. A few more pills and she was ready for the rest of the evening. Things were looking up.

 She woke up next to the pool. It was light out, and the music was gone. Party must be over. She sat up and yawned, looking over the scene. Usually a few stragglers would still be around no matter how dead the party was, but the place seemed deserted. The usual hangers on must have made a run to the beach or some other happening. Looking over herself blearily, she could see she'd never made it into bed with the guy. She was still dressed. She was pretty sure she'd got his pants off at least... he could have returned the favor. Only an idiot uses a multi millionaire for one easy orgasm. His loss.

  Standing up and stretching, she pulled up the sunglasses she had found on her face, looking over the mess. She'd have to call in the maid today. She padded into the house, wondering briefly where her very expensive shoes might be, then poured herself a glass of water. She had no idea how long she had been out, and her head was absolutely killing her. It was then that she started to smell something off. Smoldering, maybe. She slammed down her glass and went stomping towards the smell – if someone had left something burning in her house, she was going to kick somebodies ass! Tracking the smell downstairs, she sniffed nervously as it got stronger. It was starting to smell like a fire. Opening the door down to the wine cellar, the smell grew stronger, but neither was it worryingly so. A real fire in so small an area would smell a lot worse. She knew, from experience.

  Padding down the stairs with a frown, she slipped into the wine cellar. It was cool and damp and mostly empty – either the prior owners had taken the wine, or the revelers had found it. Either way, she could afford to stock it if she felt the need. The smell was worse though, tangy and growing stronger. It was as she walked into the basement to find the smell that the flames appeared behind her. She was more startled than afraid, really. There had been no whoosh of combustion, no crackle, just sudden flames, warm but not nearly so hot as any flame she knew. She backed away, watching in confusion as the silent flames danced between her and the exit, gradually warming. Was that the only exit? Had she even been in this room before? Turning to look for another exit, she let out a scream. People! Two of them, shrouded in dark clothes. No doubt the idiots who had set the fire. “What the hell are you idiots doing!” she snapped, angry at herself for screaming. “You lit my fucking house on fire!”

  Silently, the two moved forwards. She felt herself backing away despite herself, despite the growing heat behind her. Whatever had started the fire, it as warming up nicely. The figures were looming, one tall and one short, dressed in some kind of ragged black costumes like crows. “I believe” one spoke, it's voice as ragged as it's costume, but eerily familiar. “That you lit MY fucking house on fire.” Jen staggered, her eyes widening. She knew that voice. Ragged and dry, but definitely the voice of her father. She stumbled away from them, and then forward, the heat against her back suddenly growing unbearable. “You – you are dead.” Jen said, trying to keep her voice calm. She stepped towards the two figures, trying to smile. “I... I thought you were dead. I'm so happy-” She was shut up by the voice of her mother, sad and empty and very far away. “No. You don't know how to be happy.” Jen took another step towards them, forced forward by the heat as the two figures drew ever closer.

“I know how to be happy!” She howled at them. “You never LET me be happy! This was your fault, not mine!” The only way to escape the heat was forward, and she lunged between them. She had run track, she was strong and fast and young, but a hand gripped her on either arm like steel, and she found she couldn't fight her way free no matter what. On either side, one of her parents took a step forward, dragging her with them. It was impossible, but it was happening anyway. She couldn't see their faces. The “feathers” of their costumes were strips of clothing and flesh, burned black and peeled up. Best she couldn't see their faces, but they needed to see hers. Looking between them, she felt the tears coming. They were a tool that had served her well for many years, and this time they had the advantage of being real. “Please, I'm so sorry! It was an accident! I'll make it up to you, I'll be a better person!”

  Her parents though, had no more words for her. They simply stepped forward, each steady, slow movement taking Jen closer to the ever hotter fire. It was a bonfire behind her, the heat scorching her back as she struggled in the impossible grip. “Please, you can't do this!! I'm just a kid!!” she screamed, hating the fear in her voice. She was rich! She had her whole life ahead of her! They were always trying to keep her from living her life! She felt the heat becoming unbearable, the flames only steps away. “You were always jealous!! You couldn't stand that my life was better than yours ever was!! You deserved to burn! I HATE YOU!” She screamed at the figures, as she felt her top catch fire, too close to the flames. The fishnet back vanished in a sweep of scalding flame, The vinyl of her bra and leggings was soft, running molten against her as her screams increased. The next step brought her half into the flames, her backside scorching and bubbling as she fought frantically in the merciless grip, screams ripping from her throat. As the figures on either side began to step forward, the wild eyed girl between them began the last, most desperate fight of her life, every muscle taut, eyes staring ahead at the cool basement, straining to escape into it. Heedless of her efforts,  she was pulled back into the flames. A wall of heat closed over her now cracked and bubbling face, her beauty vanishing forever in the raging flames, along with her final scream.

 It wasn't for days that the scene was discovered. A single charred skeleton, lay crumbled from heat in the middle of a cool, damp cellar. No sign of fire was found nearby, and no evidence the body had been moved was ever located. The body was eventually identified as the young owner of the home, but no other clues presented themselves, and the case remains open.

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  Veronika was curious. She so rarely was these days – there was little mystery to her job. Get close to this man, get this information and steal this item, repeat. This time though, she had no idea what the item was. Her patron had no idea either, other than that it was worth a fortune. It had added a bit of fun to an otherwise boring job. The mark was a dangerous man certainly, but most were. Like so many dangerous man, he was dead now, and she had everything she needed. That trace of mystery had just been too much to ruin though; and for all the info she had got out of him, she had refrained from asking about the treasure she had been hired for. She knew it was in a safe she had the combination for, where the safe was, that there were no guards, no other security measures, and that whatever was inside was worth millions. She didn't believe any of her information was wrong. He'd been in no condition to lie by the end. Maybe it would be a couple pallets of drugs. The building housing it was certainly big enough, almost a warehouse on the property. That too was intriguing. Her patron had trucks a phone call away, if it proved too large for her to move alone.

She carefully gathered and folded the clothing scattered around the mans bed, a little black slip of a dress and a pair of stockings, easily slipped into her purse. In turn she removed a thin black bodysuit more suitable to moving unnoticed across the estate, sliding it over her body swiftly, pausing to adjust herself for ease of movement. No doubt the man staring at her from the bed would have enjoyed the show, had he still been capable. Seduction had been the first portion of the job, and she looked every bit the model she was portraying for the evening, lithe and tan, her voluminous brunette hair falling in waves from her head, makeup smoky and professional. Curves that were more than a handful without spilling over into distraction. Though she could easily pass for early twenties, the Russian woman was well into her thirties, and a highly skilled assassin and thief with experience doing both government and private jobs. Leaning over, she slipped on and laced her boots one after another – low heeled in case she needed speed or traction,.

She picked up her gun from the table, strapping on a holster as she slid out the back door, leaving the crime scene behind her. She was starting to suspect she might need to call in those trucks. The building out back of the residence was surprisingly large. She frowned as she crept up to the door, punching in the code. If she's been hired to hit some kind of drug smuggling ring, things were going to get more complicated than she liked. The doors slid forward, revealing a second set of doors. As the first began to close, she stepped through and moved towards the second set. If the man had lied she would be trapped between the doors until she could call her sponsor, but she knew he hadn't lied. She had a gift for spotting such things. She put in the second set of numbers, allowing a slight grin of satisfaction as it worked, opening the second set of doors and  allowing her to step into the warehouse proper.
 
He'd described it as a warehouse, and he was right. It was filled with ten foot racks, two levels each filled with big four foot boxes. It was also COLD. Like a freezer. She could deal with cold, but she wished she had something heavier than a body stocking regardless. She moved fast, heading to the panel she had been told was to the left of the front door. It was there all right, surrounded by the classic yellow and black crosshatching warning of danger, and surrounded by “EMERGENCY ONLY” labels in Russian. It was a good cover. She punched in the final code, then tapped her way through the warnings and verifications. She was starting to get nervous this was more than a cover – if this turned out to be some kind of chemical weapon she might have to get out in a hurry. As she punched in the final code, she heard the big freezer units shut down, and then the entire back quarter of the warehouse slid open. She blinked in confusion – whatever was back there would definitely require the  trucks. Mystery was fun and all, but the expectations of her Patron had been pretty clear – something strange, maybe even large, but nothing out of the ordinary. Drugs, weapons. This was weird. She began to walk down the central aisle, her boots clicking softly on the cold floor as she pulled out her phone and began to dial. That's when she heard it.

It came from just inside the newly open door, the impact of something falling. Maybe it had just been against the door when it opened; or maybe someone was in there. The noise repeated as something else fell, and she pulled her gun, letting her phone fall back in the purse. Someone was here. She crouched, then grabbing a support on the shelving, she leaped and swung herself into a nook on the second shelf where one of the big boxes was missing. She heard another impact as she swung, this time outside the giant “safe”. Someone was pushing boxes off the shelving. Trying to get her to reveal herself. She slid carefully between another of the huge boxes, the cold of their sides pressed against her sending a shiver through her. As she slid out the other side to look around, she froze. She watched as another impact hit the floor, eyes wide. It wasn't boxes hitting the floor. She was looking at a dinosaur. She was hearing it's feet.

For a moment, her mind simply shut down. It was... enormous. Nearly as tall as a two story house, it strode forward, sniffing at the boxes, then nudging one over. It was a meat eater, she knew that right away, even before frozen meat fell across the floor and the beast began to sniff it. She had seen the footage of the attack in America years back. She'd watched the occasional special on the island parks that had failed so many years back. But how was one here, in a rich mans warehouse in Russia? She slid back behind the boxes, dropping silently to the floor to head towards the exit, opposite the aisle the creature was feasting on. She moved fast and she moved quiet, years of skill sharpened to a point by sheer terror. This was not what she signed up for. She had a handgun and a garrote. She might as well throw a doll at it, if it spotted her. She punched in the front door code, and nothing happened. Breathing in slowly and focusing, she focused and punched it in again. Nothing. She licked her lips, checking over her shoulder out of habit. Down the aisle, maybe a hundred feet away, a dinosaur was watching her curiously. She knew the look. It was the look she gave to prey as she sized them up. She darted towards the shelving an aisle down, leaping into the boxes on the second level just as she had before, a moment of terror as she collided into a box and nearly fell back. But she caught herself and slid between two, her heart racing as she heard the beast turn the corner. There was room to move in the space between the boxes facing one way and the boxes facing another, and she moved fast, relocating herself. She saw a box twenty feet behind her vanish as it was pulled out. Controlling her breathing was the important thing. Panic wouldn't help here. She felt the sweat on her body cooling in the still freezing air, the stillness around her. Poking her head up, she surveyed the room. She needed a way out. When she found it, it was closer than she hoped. A half dozen aisles over, near the corner, a window. No bars, within reach of you leaned off the corner of the last rack of shelving. She had to wait for the dinosaur to move further away to make a break though, and it wasn't. It was hovering nearby. She thought she knew why.

Carefully, quiet as possible, she began stripping out of her bodysuit. It smelled like her, and if she knew carnivores, removing it's scent was top priority, and it could be a handy distraction. It was while she was struggling to pull it over her boots that the dinosaur struck. Maybe it heard her, maybe it smelled her; either way it was far from subtle in it's interest. It smashed it's head into the box she knelt behind, sending her tumbling out the back of the shelving, hundreds of pounds of frozen meat slamming around her as she fell. She hit the floor, feeling the breath knocked out of her, the corner of the box landing on her left shoulder, tearing a cry from her. For a moment it hung above her, threatening to pin her down... then it rolled away and she was up, never mind the lack of breath and the freeze across her naked back. She leaped for the next row of shelving, black cloth flapping free of her right foot as she fled. The beast behind her slammed forward, its head and shoulders jammed into the center of the shelving, half tearing it from the floor. He was hung up, half in the now twisted shelving, and now was her chance. She clambered up the next aisle to the top, painfully aware of her slowness. Her left shoulder was broken, her left arm useless. The creature leaned in, barely a car length from where she climbed, roaring and snapping in anger. It was a sound that chilled her to the bone, but as she pulled herself to the top she felt a surge of triumph. She could leap across the tops of the aisles, get to the corner, and be out. As she took the first jump, pain exploded in her shoulder on the land, and she almost lost her footing, dropping to her knees with a gasp. The creature behind her, changed tactics, pulling free from the shelving and moving around, seeking her. Gritting her teeth, she  rose to her feet and leaped again, then again. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the creature begin to speed up, heading to cut her off. Cursing, she leaped the last two aisles with the precise grace of a gymnast, gritting her teeth against every landing.

As she leaped onto the last shelf, she fired three shots into the window, watching it fall away in a shimmer of glass. Holstering her gun, she leaped, grabbing hold of the sill with her right hand, ignoring the glass slicing into her hand as she began to pull herself up. For a moment limitless will wrestled with limited strength as she tried to pull herself up, but the winner of that battle would never be known. She felt the teeth sink into her hanging leg, and she was torn free from the sill with a shriek of rage. The beast shook her once, and she felt something pop in her leg, pain flaring beneath the pain of the jagged daggers punched into her skin. Then it dropped her. Dazed, she rolled onto her back, and saw the giant mouth descending towards her, filled with teeth the size of knives. She screamed again, and found her gun in her hand. She was a dangerous creature herself, and her aim was true despite the alarm bells racing through her nerves. One of the creatures eyes winked out of existence, the head-shot strangely anticlimactic in the vast space of it's head. It;s effect was far from anticlimax though, as it roared in rage, shaking its head and smashing the shelving behind with a swipe of it's tail. Rolling to her stomach, she scrabbled between two boxes on the bottom shelf, trying to get her footing. It was not to be. Once again the creature grabbed her right leg, trailing and bloody this time, and pulled her eight feet into the air. Screaming again, she emptied her clip into the chest of the beast. If it had a heart, it was too well defended. The massive jaws crunched down on her leg, and a blaze of pain washed across her vision, graying it out before the world came back into focus. Walking was no longer an option. She felt herself raised higher, letting out another scream of rage at the beast as it tossed her gently in it's mouth, flipping her around so her head pointed down it's gullet. She slammed her gun into the nearest fang, shattering it before another jolt re-positioned her in the jaws, and the gun slipped from her hand somewhere in the frothy slime of the saliva pouring over her body. She scrabbled madly at the slick tongue beneath her and throat above, hoping to hurt it, to get coughed free. It's only response was to chomp down on her midsection. She howled as teeth punched through her stomach, ribs, thrashing in the slicing vice of the creatures jaws. Then the jaws loosened and she felt herself slide forward, and her screams increased in pitch. It was swallowing her! She jammed her good elbow out, but it did nothing to slow her descent as the beast tipped it's head back. It was dark now, dark and close and wet and terrible smelling. She screamed again, her nails digging into the neck of the monster as she slid down. It was the last sound to escape the predators body, as it's mouth closed on the vanishing howls of the doomed Russian.

Walking among the boxes of frozen meat it sniffed them unimpressed, as the fresher meat thrashing inside it's airless gut grew panicked and wild, then slowed, then finally stilled. For a time the smell of the vanished woman's body stocking tantalized it with the smell of food, but soon enough it found the torn garment, and a good sniff was enough to convince the beast no further morsels lay that way. Cold, exhausted and losing blood, the creature wandered back into it's habitat, curling to sleep and digest the aggravating little meal.
I'm putting the last touches on a new story, will be up in a day or two!

Any thoughts on the stories so far? Too long, maybe? I was thinking maybe Alexandra could have been posted in three parts. Anything people would like to see? 

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SalemBurns

Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
First things first - this is likely to be full of grim and perilous tales, and most often a lady will end up on the wrong end. I that isn't your thing, this isn't your page.


Why, you ask? It's not because I want to be killed, or want to see people killed, or want revenge on cheerleaders. I think in the end it is because death is something huge and terrifying, and to make it a cartoon monster monster is to steal some of it's power. I die a thousand deaths through the eyes of my heroines - a bit sexy, a bit over the top, often where I somehow called it down upon myself. Even as I try to make death something sexy, and cartoonish and "fair"; another part of me wants to see it through, to feel what it must be like for those trapped in these stories, no matter how silly. To die a bit, just for practice. I hope something worthwhile comes from that tension.

I hope to post roughly one story a week, but life comes first. Enjoy, and don't take it too serious!

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:iconheroicsacrificer:
HeroicSacrificer Featured By Owner Sep 10, 2018
Thanks for the fave and the watch!
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:iconmonsant:
Monsant Featured By Owner Aug 2, 2018
Thanks!

M
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:iconniceshoez:
Niceshoez Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2018  Professional General Artist
Thanks for the watch and your awesome Drow story!
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:iconsalemburns:
SalemBurns Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2018  New Deviant Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! I've never posted a story anywhere, I'm glad to hear someone liked it - especially someone whose work I like! 
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:iconjames-is-james:
James-Is-James Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2018  Hobbyist General Artist
thanks for the watch and welcome to DA!
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