Author Frank Morin
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Ch 55 - Fatal Attraction
🕑 Added 2024-10-17 16:00:08 +0000 UTCInstead of opening the gate, the man tossed down a rope. “Can you climb?”
I could have just jumped the 10-foot wall, but I was getting a weird vibe from the guy. His eyes were a bit too wide, his gaze a bit too intense. I didn’t want to spook him.
“I think I can manage.” I climbed the wall using the rope and tried my best to make it look difficult. A moment later, I dropped onto an interior walkway beside the man.
“Fred Gallagher. Baby human level 16. Team Fatal Attraction.”
That was an unfortunate team and the middle-aged guy didn’t look like he was thriving, despite his decent levels. His blond hair was strangely well styled, but all he wore was a pair of tight speedos, showing off his well-muscled torso.
“Hi. You guys are hard to find.”
“Some visitors are welcome. Come. I will take you to my mistress.”
“Mistress?” That was an odd turn of phrase.
He didn’t elaborate, but led the way down a steep stair. Two large log cabins filled most of the compound and Fred headed toward the larger one.
“How many people are here?” I spotted no one else moving around. It was the middle of the night, but still, another odd detail.
“There are never enough to serve.”
Okay, I was definitely getting major weird vibes from Fred, but my curiosity was piqued too. So I followed, ready to defend myself.
I paused one step inside the larger building to stare. It looked like we’d entered a Persian princess’s private suite, if she was a pillow hoarder.
The walls were draped with crimson curtains, while yellow silk drapes were pinned to the ceiling. Piles of pillows and cushions in dozens of styles cluttered the entire space. Flimsy silk pillows, frilly pillows, huge full-body pillows, couch cushions and dozens of different seat cushions.
The room was stiflingly hot, although I didn’t spot a fireplace anywhere. Some kind of incense or nasty scented candles hung so heavy in the air, it was hard to breathe. In the center of the room, a king-size, four-poster bed stood, draped in silks of every color.
“Where did you get all this stuff?”
Fred didn’t answer, but dropped to one knee with his right hand over his heart. Bowing his head, he spoke loudly. “Mistress. I have brought a new servant for consideration.”
That was too much. I took a step back, reaching for the door, but spotted movement behind the silk curtains around the bed. A woman slipped out of the bed and stepped into view and I couldn’t help staring.
Persian hoarder princess in the flesh. A lot of flesh, as it turned out. The very attractive woman was only barely dressed. The briefest bikini did little more than highlight areas usually covered, while gauzy fabric that suggested loose pants and crop top billowed around her bronze skin.
She was tall and shapely, with thick, black hair cascading down her back to her waist. She was like an X-rated older sister of Princess Jasmine from Aladdin.
When I met her gaze, the room tilted and the heat grew unbearable. I gasped, clutching at the door handle, but my fingers only knocked clumsily against the wood. My thoughts swam and I swayed where I stood.
“Welcome, visitor.” Her voice was a rich purr that slid into my ears and wrapped my brain in wool. Deep in the back of my mind, someone was screaming for me to get out, but the voice was so dim, I couldn’t seem to focus on it.
“I am Mistress Abbie,” she said as she prowled closer, her movements fluid and sensual. My heart raced but my thoughts scattered. I couldn’t seem to think.
“What may I call you?” she purred as she reached me and slid one yellow-painted nail down my arm. The touch sent shivers racing through me, but I couldn’t tell if they were pleasant or painful.
I opened my mouth to speak, but hesitated. Something wasn’t right. I had a message to give them, but what was it? I needed to do something else, but couldn’t remember.
“Well?” she asked, pacing slowly around me. “You poor thing. Your clothing is torn to rags. You’ve had a hard time of it, haven’t you?”
I nodded, but still no words came out. I felt an overwhelming need to answer and tell her everything she wanted to know, but a stubborn core deep inside balked.
“Don’t you have a name?” she asked, leaning against my right side. She was warm and soft, her voice a caress.
“Lu . . . Lucas,” I stammered.
“Too bad you’re so dim. Battered and only level 7. Are you autistic or something, Lucas?”
I grunted. Her voice shackled my mind, but wisps of thought were starting to move again like weak currents through thick mud.
“Pity. If you were better looking, you’d still make a fine plaything, but I have enough toys. I need servants, though. Fred, take him to the kitchens.”
I almost protested. I wasn’t that bad looking, and I wasn’t useless. Instead, I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. The heat and incense and the heady drug of her voice made thinking nearly impossible, but I clung to the growing certainty that something was wrong.
“Yes, Mistress,” Fred cried and leaped to his feet.
“Be a good boy and serve me well,” Abbie breathed into my ear, then kissed my cheek. The world spun and I dropped like a sack of potatoes.
When I blinked open my eyes again, my head pounded like Fred had beaten me with a hammer while I slept. My thoughts seemed to be working again, though.
“Ow,” I groaned as I sat up and looked around.
I was lying on a filthy straw cot in the corner of a large kitchen. Three separate ovens, just like the ones in the Base Camp tents, lined one long table against the opposite wall. Shelves full of boxes and bags filled the opposite wall, while 2 gleaming steel food prep tables stood in the center of the room.
It smelled delicious. The kitchen was awash with scents of grilled meat, soups, and fresh-baked bread. I spotted a rack with several different types of loaves cooling nearby.
“What the Smolder?” How did they get all this stuff?
In the center of the kitchen, a man in a white apron and chef’s white hat was inspecting a pair of boots that looked an awful lot like mine. I glanced down and bit back another curse. I was naked except for my blue boxers. They’d stripped me bare while I slept.
“Hey, those are my boots,” I shouted as I lunged to my feet. My legs felt wobbly and when I glanced at my health stats, a little blinking icon flashed.
“Active condition: Woozy.”
When did that become a thing? I’d never seen that status bar before.
The cook turned to me and waved. He was a big guy, but not fat. He stood several inches taller than me, with very muscular arms. He spoke with a noticeable French accent. “You don’t get clothes until the Mistress decides you get clothes.”
The Mistress. My foggy memories came back and I shuddered. She had some strong mind control seduction powers. She’d wrecked me and could have easily killed me if she wanted to. The memory of standing helpless before her riled me up more.
“Give them back.” I marched toward the cook, who scowled.
“Don’t give me attitude, new guy. You serve the Mistress now and she said you work for me. Don’t make me smite you.”
Smite? Who used that word?
Identify kicked in finally. “Charles Adair. Baby human level 14. Team Smallville.”
“Last warning, Charles.” I was in no mood to play games.
“This lesson is on your head,” Charles said and scooped up an enormous rolling pin from the table. How did he get a rolling pin?
He swiped it at my head. It was a powerful swing, but slow. Again, the familiar threat of an attack by a human opponent helped settle my mind and I reacted with well-honed instincts, improved by my level 4 hand to hand martial skills ability.
I stepped in and intercepted his arm. With a quick twist, I disarmed him, took the rolling pin, and whacked him across the temple. Charles dropped in a cloud of flour.
“I warned you,” I told him as I dumped the rolling pin into my inventory.
Less than a minute later, I finished dressing. All my clothes and gear I’d been wearing had been shoved onto a shelf. Luckily, my inventory looked unchanged. I had no idea if they could loot it while I still lived, but they had shown enough weird skills, I wouldn’t be surprised.
I had several notifications waiting, so I checked them as I dressed.
“Congratulations, Lucas. You have found the first sex cult established by earthlings this week. You receive a gold Risky Business loot box.”
“Congratulations, Lucas. You walked into an obvious trap with no plan to escape and survived anyway. You receive a silver Lucky Stiff loot box.”
“Congratulations, Lucas. You have resisted a powerful emotional mind assault. You receive a gold Samwise loot box.”
I opened the loot boxes since I had a minute. The gold Risky Business loot box gave me 3 potions of Impotence. I chuckled until I read the description.
“Potion of Impotence. Times 3. Renders anyone who drinks this potion magically impotent. Blocks all use of mana for 60 seconds.”
“Wow. That would be better if I could throw it at someone and have it take effect, though.”
Cyrus answered. “Great idea, Lucas, but that only works if you find an item capable of delivering a potion remotely.”
“What kind of items can do that?”
Cyrus laughed. “And ruin the surprise?”
The Lucky Stiff loot box gave me another boost of plus 5 to Luck and the Samwise loot box gave me a whopping 20% to Mental Resistance. Those were better prizes than I expected to get. Then I noticed the countdown timer and my good mood vanished.
“How did I lose 12 hours?”
“Abbie’s Goodnight Kiss ability usually knocks men out for longer than that. It helps erode mental resistance unless the subject has your level of regeneration. Most men wake up as willing puppets. Isn’t that an amazing ability?”
I’d lost half a day. It was past noon on the fourth day already. I only had two and a half days to go. I headed for the door, but then noticed a bunch of messages in my chat.
I scanned dozens of increasingly worried messages from Ruby and Tomas. In the last few, they’d promised they were coming to help, but it was the last one that made me curse.
Ruby: “Lucas, we’re here. We’ve found a wooden compound. Your last known position was in there so we’re going in.”
She sent it 30 minutes ago. I didn’t hear shouting or fighting, but they must have attacked by now.
With growing dread, I rushed to the doorway and flung it open. The exit led to the main area just inside the gate. So the kitchen was in the other log cabin. Another speedo-wearing dude stood nearby carrying a spear that glowed softly red.
He spun and gave me a nod. “The Mistress will not be pleased to see you wearing clothing already. The intruders are subdued and she’s calling for lunch.”
Subdued meant not dead. My first instinct was to rush over and stab him on the way to the other log cabin, but I resisted the urge. I didn’t know how many other of Abbie’s servants might be around. If I raised the alarm, she might kill Ruby and Tomas and the others before I could get to them.
So I ducked my head humbly. “Sorry. My mind is still fuzzy.”
“Focus on serving the Mistress. That brings clarity.”
“Thanks. Will you help me with the food?”
He strode toward me, frowning. “Where is Charles?”
“He slipped on a rolling pin. He’s resting.”
Identify kicked in as the man hurried over, spear leaning on his shoulder. “Michael Rogers. Baby human level 14. Team Smallville.”
So he was on the same team as Charles. Good. He’d want to help. I led the way back inside, then let Michael rush past. He spied Charles’s prone form on the floor and ran to him.
Cyrus surprised me by laughing loudly. "Exellent ploy, Lucas! You're a better actor than I realized."
Michael heard that too. He stiffened, then spun toward me, trying to swing his spear off his shoulder. It caught in a rack of pots, knocking them to the floor in a thunderous cascade.
I rushed Michael and snatched a long loaf of French bread off the cooling rack. As Michael started to shout a warning, I shoved the entire loaf into his mouth, compressing it so tight he gagged.
Then I punched him in the base of the jaw, snapping his head around and knocking him out. I manacled both him and Charles and even paused for a second to scoop that ball of bread out of his mouth so he didn’t choke.
I dumped his spear into my inventory, but didn’t bother to check its properties. Time was short. So I stripped back down to my boxers, picked up a tray with finger foods Charles had left on the prep table, and headed for the other log cabin.
It was time for lunch.
