Just a fun, silly, raunchy mix of fantasy, horror and a touch of SciFi. Lots and lots of sex; straight sex, lesbian sex, group sex, along with everyone's favorite: tentacle sex. Witches, vampires, thralls and mad scientists fighting over Power.
This has several nods to Zelazny's incredible "A Night in the Lonesome October." I re-read that every October, along with "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." But it also takes a lot of inspiration from online RPGs, anime and hentai.
I never met him, so I have no idea if Zelazny would absolutely hate this or not, but a lot of Zelazny fans are nerds and geeks, like me, and nerds and geeks often read sexually explicit material like Literotica and read/watch hentai porn. At least the ones I know do.
October Leapt
A clash of witches, vampires, icons...and tentacles
______
Sanctuary
"Sanctuary."
The bald, black suit-clad nightclub bouncer eyed me laconically. "I don't think so."
"Hold on."
I reached into my windbreaker pocket and he shook his head. "Not happening, there isn't a big enough bribe to let you in. All you need is orthopedic shoes to complete that look. You're almost there."
"Really?" I glanced down at my Skechers. He kind-of had a point.
"Really. Move on. There's a sports bar about five blocks south of here, it'd be more your style."
"Probably, but I really need to go in here."
"Not fuckin' happening." He drew himself up to his full six-foot-six height. Behind him, an even larger man, lazily pulled his immense frame off the wall and began to lumber over.
They were intimidating as Hell. Either one looked like they could stomp me to jelly without much effort.
I pulled my hand out of my pocket and held it up.
"Shit." The bouncer stepped back and waved his partner to stop. "Is that real?"
"It is." I shrugged.
"Shit." He intoned again, almost as a ward against evil, as he eyed the huge emerald-cut ruby with its gold runic inset.
His partner leaned forward and studied it as well. "Doesn't really matter if it is real. That Icon says he's 'The Shadow.' If he knows enough to make that good of a fake... he's too far in already. Let him pass. The Game has a way of taking care of cheaters on its own. VIP Lounge is in the back"
I blinked, the huge low browed, lantern jawed man wouldn't have been my pick for the genius of the two, but even his voice sounded strangely cultured.
"Fucking Players." The first bouncer unhooked the rope and waved me in, much to the shock of the gaggle of very scantily dressed women behind me.
I shrugged again. "Hate the Game, not the Players."
He just growled derisively.
I could understand the shock and disbelief of the bouncer. I don't look special. I don't feel particularly special either, for whatever that is worth.
Pushing through the crowd, nearly deafened by the pounding music, I headed for the back- all the way to the VIP Lounge.
The mass of people was...well, 'diverse' probably isn't near strong enough to give the right impression. Humans of every stripe from street punks to centerfolds were grinding almost impartially on each other on the dancefloor. A small, lithe catgirl was making out with a male bodybuilder in one corner, most of their clothing lay on the floor; she was a calico with a real, rather twitchy, tail; so the word "people" was stretched to its limit here. In another corner, an almost seven foot tall woman was locking lips and groping a short slim guy I recognized as a rap singer. And those were the milder examples.
The sexual energy was through the roof. Some of that was normal high-end molly-and-ex driven nightclub energy...but a lot of it was the arcane energy generated by the Game. We were approaching the climax of the Game, and the chaotic sexual energy in the air had built to almost unbearable levels. Here near the center of a ley pattern, near All-Hallow's Eve, it was pouring through the Veil like waves from the sea.
It's the nature of magic.
Magic is built on primal energy. Anger, hate, fear, loneliness, and resentment are significant potential sources of mana, but for sheer power, nothing beats sex. Mating is the most basic primal drive of humans, mammals - Hell, almost all animals, many plants and even a few assorted fungi, lichens and molds. Cults often use anger and hate to summon, but for most of them, there's an orgy or two thrown in there for damn good reasons.
Sitting on crossed ley lines, Sanctuary was a node of power all the time even without a Game in progress; much more so now.
Which explained why the trio of rather attractive - almost identical - female bartenders appeared to be quietly rubbing themselves off between fixing drinks.
I held my gem up as I approached the guard to the VIP lounge; he just gave a single nod and slid the door open for me.
As the door slid shut behind me and the blasting noise dropped to almost not-painful levels; the muffled thump of the music soaked in through the floors and walls, more seismic than sonic in the VIP lounge.
I took stock of the room.
Scattered tables and lounge sets, with the wait staff scurrying to bring food and drink to the no-doubt well-paying customers.
My contact wasn't immediately evident, so I moved over to a tall side table with two chairs.
A very pretty waiter in a black formal dinner jacket and red six-inch heels came up and gave me a look, but whatever he or she was thinking wasn't showing in thier heavily-kohled eyes. "Your order, sir?"
I didn't answer immediately and they looked me over, taking in my less-than-upscale clothing. "Players' drinks and food are to be put on Sanctuary's tab, as a courtesy."
That was a relief; contrary to his conclusions, money wasn't really a problem for me, but a meal or drink might cost more than just money in a place where the ley lines cross. I quickly ordered a rum and coke, sat back, and watched the crowd.
Crossing the threshold of Sanctuary before the End Game was mandatory for Players who don't want to end up a fine pink mist in the final act. Magic doesn't always make sense, but it has very immutable rules. So some of my fellow Players were certainly here somewhere.
Most of the crowd didn't garner any concern; typical high-end nightclub crawlers. But there were a few that did catch my eye.
Two women with black hair; one was a red-hot wet dream busty grade-A MILF, the other was very attractive, very slender, and very probably just barely out of her teens. Both were dressed in black. They were clearly closely related from their features. Probably a mother and her daughter. The way they looked warily around the room made me think they almost had to be Players; they were sitting alone and hardly seemed like they were here for a good time.
Past a group of NFL players loudly having a good time, I could see a dark emaciated figure in an oversize black hoodie crouched protectively over an untouched drink, gloved hands cupping it. The face was too deep in shadow to see. Definitely a Player. And an extra creepy one at that.
A "very wealthy former cheerleader and jock" couple, all tans, plastic surgery, and bleached teeth at another table were chatting up a fairly fit retired banker-and-wife looking couple; all of them radiated confidence and power. Maybe Players, maybe just uber-rich swingers, maybe both; I couldn't really tell. The upside-down pineapple pattern Hawaiian shirts the two men were wearing and the matching earrings on the two women made it clear that, Players or not, they were swinging.
Then I saw him.
Wilhelm Strigoi, with his weird little sidekick, Yoshi. Two girls were with them - cute, obviously hyper-excited little numbers that had to be just out of high school, thrilled to be here in the club, thrilled to be his guests at one of the hottest nightclubs on Earth.
The problem was that they weren't really his guests.
They were his dinner.
Fuck that.
I got up and walked straight for them.
As soon as our eyes met, Wilhelm held his hands up and open, leaning back into his chair with an amused smile.
"Evan. You can't touch me here. Sanctuary." He raised a smug eyebrow. His barely-there cultured Prussian accent was as smooth as ever and I could see both of the young girls, all of probably eighteen or nineteen, listening to him dreamily.
"Rules are rules, Willy. But that goes both ways."
I pulled a chair over and pushed between the two girls to sit directly across from Wilhelm.
He smirked. He thought he was perfect; the problem being that he damn near was. Perfect blond hair, perfect smile, perfect clear blue eyes, perfect insanely expensive silk suit. Perfect fine Italian leather shoes. Perfect $100K wristwatch.
Honestly, what kind of pretentious asshole spends that kind of money on a watch?
"God, Willy, it's been what, six months?"
He smiled his perfect smile. "Berlin was beautiful, wasn't it?"
Yoshi just stared at me, dead all-black eyes boring through me with no emotion at all. Yoshi had probably been an average cute Japanese girl at one point. Now she was a collage of tattoos and piercings - three lip rings, dimple piercings on her cheeks, a nose ring, copious earrings, piercings in her eyebrows, along with thick nipple rings that I could see clearly through her black mesh top. Metal stud piercings ran in several rows down her flat stomach. Those were only the visible ones, I was more than certain she had many more covered by what little clothing she wore, which consisted of her see-through top, black leather micro shorts, fishnet stockings and a pair of clunky black combat boots. Weird runic tattoos covered most of her body, arms and legs, crept up her neck and covered half her face. The whites of her eyes and her lips had been tattooed black as well. All topped off by a brilliant hot pink punk haircut.
