Jack Chalker - Horrors of the Dancing Gods

She felt better, sexier, more gorgeous than ever before, and she could also feel within her the pulsing of the energy she had from using, perhaps overusing, those attributes.

Poquah wasn't going to like it a bit, but the old prude had expected it, anyway, and if the Kauri leader, whom she now could not even remember clearly, and Ruddygore had not wanted or expected this, then it was their job to have told her how to avoid it.

Not that she wanted to avoid it, not now. Unlike most, she felt no compulsions of obedience to anyone, no servility, nothing. She was totally, absolutely, and one hundred percent a free agent, in total control of herself and what she did, subject only to that one restriction that she found bothered her not a bit.

She was a sexual vampire, and she had total power over men to feed her needs. All the power she needed and not a fear in the world.

Unless the Ancient Ones came through. If the Ancient Ones prevailed, what kind of future would any of them have?

That, too, though, seemed to give her confidence. Those Kauri wimps could barely knock over a leaf, and they had little offense otherwise at all. She, on the other hand, now had some very great power if the opportunity came to, use it. She very much hoped it would.

NOBODY EXCEPT MARGE HAD SLEPT VERY WELL DURING the morning, but all had adrenaline pumping at a massive rate by the time they assembled that evening at the battlement, including whatever Poquah's race substituted for it. He of course was still the only one who did not seem to feel undue concern.

Irving had decided on a minimalist approach, with the idea of wearing a single loincloth seeming both impractical and silly, not to mention unclean. Instead, he opted for nothing but a belt with a basic leather scabbard that would handle the sword and keep it from cutting his leg off in a fall, a black leather codpiece, and the leather straps to support them. He would also carry a backpack into the valley, but that would be left wherever they made camp. Everyone was to carry his or her own supplies.

Larae opted for almost exactly the same thing, except that she had her sling, stones in a pouch, and dagger on a slightly wider belt and would carry her javelinlike spear. The sight of the codpiece looked silly on that body, but Irving knew it was damnably necessary and not just part of the outfit.

Poquah wore brown and green britches and a more standard sword belt and scabbard affair, but he looked a lot more basic and a lot more sinister, as he had the times the others had seen the usually silent Imir go into battle.

Joel Thebes wore his crumpled and very dirty white suit and black saddle-style tie shoes.

They all gasped when they saw Marge, and she gave them the sexy smile and a movie star pose. "Really stunning, the new me, huh?'

"Criminal," Poquah sniffed. "I knew this would happen! If you touch either of these two, I'll risk iron myself to finish you!"

She smiled sweetly at him and blew him a mock kiss. "You know you couldn't do it. No man is ever going to be able to do that to me. Don't worry, I'm still on the team and we have the same goals. I'm not about to go after Joe's kid. But if you didn't want this to happen, you shoulda provided some way for it not to happen, or Ruddygore or the Sisterhood or somebody should have, right? It feels so right, so normal, I almost think the reason you all didn't was because I was always supposed to be one of these and everybody but me knew it. Irving, close your mouth, pull in your tongue, think of your almost lady love here, and remember that in an hour or so we're gonna be shot right into a situation that's likely to kill us all in the next couple of days, anyway. Right?"

Even Larae, whose only interest in girls until then had been as rivals or critical examples, felt the attraction Marge now exuded. The difference was, she now felt herself torn between a desire to complete her transformation to male and a wish to become one of those.

At precisely eighteen hundred, about ninety minutes before sunset at that season in that latitude, the figure of a monk appeared among them on the battlement. In spite of bright sunshine, he still looked as if he were in deep shadow.

Mephistopheles looked at Marge, but not as other men had. "I see that you have made the final transition. More than ever now you must trust your instincts. There will probably be good prey in there for a seductress, but use the power wisely. Iron about fifty millimeters below the heart will kill you as surely as it will kill any other of the facie, and you have no power over women of any type."

She nodded. "I'll be careful. That much hasn't changed. How do we get to Mount Doom, though? Shouldn't we have left before now in order to travel? I mean, it's like another thousand miles, isn't it?"

"Almost, but that is using the methods of the world. Come! All together now! Have hold of what you wish to bring with you, for there will be no chance to do this twice!" The Prince of Hell put his arms out straight to either side and faced the south-southwest. "All face where I face and be prepared. Even now the battle rages, and we shall soon join it. Each of you touch one other close to you, and at least one of you touch my robe. Yes, thank you. Do not fear what you see — it is being done for your own benefit. Be prepared for bizarre and violent sights and sounds and dizzying sensations, but hold fast. You must hit the ground running and be into that wood in the blink of an eye, as soon as you see the opening. Many lives and souls of great bravery and value are being put on the line for you! Do not let them down!" He paused. "Ready? You see? I am in Hell, and Hell is in all places at once. Therefore, since you are with me, we are already there!"

The entire world, even the entire universe, suddenly vanished.

They approached the dark at the end of the tunnel before they could think any more about it.

And like that they burst through into an insane, chaotic roar of battle on a vast supernatural scale.

All around them, great dark shapes like giants in a twisted shadow play rode even more horrifying steeds that snorted, exuded, and shot fire and brimstone and electrical energies at an equally horrific series of giant apparitions in front of them. The enemy seemed outlined in bright white energy yet was all animal hatred, with slashing fangs and razor-sharp claws not of flesh and blood but of supernatural energy, the true underlying That behind All That.

It was the most awful, terrifying thing any of them had ever seen, made all the more so by their total lack of control over anything, including being able to run or hide or block from their vision the grisly and grotesque war of the evil gods that raged all around them. Instead, they tried to focus forward on a tiny sliver of light, of reality, toward which they slowly moved even as they stood motionless with Mephistopheles.

The pinpoint grew abruptly larger, surrounding and overwhelming them, and they felt the suddenness of wind on their faces and the heat of the early evening and saw a. vast impenetrable-looking forest only a few dozen meters in front of them.

They didn't wait for an invitation; although they were all still stunned and reeling from the incomprehensible violence through which they'd come, they each acted out of an instinct for self-preservation and hit the ground running hard for those trees, not stopping until they were well inside the thick grove and hidden by its shadows.