Chapter 22: The Tour of Horrors
Eddie Murphy walked like a man who owned the ground beneath his feet.
His boots struck the black stone in a steady rhythm, each step echoing through corridors that twisted like the intestines of some vast, sleeping beast. The walls pulsed with a faint bioluminescence—genetically engineered fungi that Eddie had personally designed, their glow shifting from sickly green to pale blue as he passed. He'd spent three years perfecting the strain. It fed on magical residue, and this mountain was practically dripping with the stuff.
Cody watched him move.
There was something wrong with the way Eddie carried himself. Not the confidence—Cody had grown up around powerful men, men who wore their authority like a second skin. It was the way Eddie's eyes never stopped moving. The way his fingers twitched at his sides, as if he were constantly calculating angles, trajectories, escape routes.
He's afraid, Cody realized. He's always afraid.
But he hides it well.
"Keep up," Eddie said, not looking back. "The holding pens are just ahead. I want you to see what we're really doing here."
Amanda's hand found Cody's.
Her fingers were cold—the mountain was cold, always cold, even in the upper corridors where the air should have been warmer. She squeezed once, hard, and Cody squeezed back.
Maryam walked behind them.
She hadn't said a word since they'd entered the mountain. Her jaw was set, her hazel eyes fixed on Eddie's back with an intensity that bordered on predatory. She still wore her backwards baseball cap, which struck Cody as absurdly normal in this place of pulsing fungus and whispering runes.
They passed a guard station.
The guards didn't look at them. They stared straight ahead, their faces hidden behind reflective visors, their hands resting on weapons that hummed with a frequency that made Cody's teeth ache. The Consortium 2.0 had modified the old tech—Cody recognized the basic design from his father's files, but the details were wrong. Sharper. Meaner.
"Sixteen stations between here and the pens," Eddie said. "Each one linked to the central nervous system of the mountain. If something breaks containment, the mountain knows before we do."
"And the turrets?" Amanda asked.
"Automated. Magical signature recognition. If you don't have the right frequency, they'll turn you into ash before you can blink."
He said it casually, as if discussing the weather.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber.
Cody stopped walking.
The pens stretched for what looked like miles—rows upon rows of cages carved directly into the living rock, each one pulsing with that same sickly light. And inside the cages were things. Things that moved. Things that watched.
Things that had once been human.
Cody saw a woman with too many arms, her skin the color of old bruises, her eyes rolling independently of each other. He saw a man whose lower body had fused with the stone floor, his mouth open in a scream that never came. He saw children—children—with black veins crawling up their necks and hollow sockets where their eyes should have been.
"What the fuck," Maryam breathed.
Eddie turned to face them.
His smile was thin. Clinical. The smile of a man who had long ago stopped seeing the horror in what he did.
"This is what we're dealing with," he said. "Magical creatures. Magical people. Things that the old Consortium tried to lock away and failed. Things that would tear this world apart if we let them."
"These are people," Amanda said. Her voice shook. "These were people."
"They were. And now they're weapons."
Eddie walked toward the nearest cage.
Inside, a massive wolf-like creature—matted fur, glowing red eyes, jaws that could crush a human skull—lay curled in the corner. It was bigger than a horse. It was bigger than a car. Its breathing filled the chamber with a sound like distant thunder.
Eddie knelt.
The wolf lifted its head.
And then it whimpered.
The sound was pathetic. Broken. The creature dragged itself across the cage floor and pressed its enormous snout against the bars, its tail curling between its legs, its entire body trembling with something that looked exactly like fear.
Eddie reached through the bars.
He stroked the wolf's snout.
"This one killed fourteen people in Prague before we caught it," he said. "Tore them apart. Ate most of them. And now look at it. Tame as a puppy."
Cody's stomach turned.
He could see the brand on the wolf's shoulder—the pi symbol, etched deep into the fur and flesh. The same symbol on Eddie's coat. The same symbol on every guard, every weapon, every piece of tech in this nightmare of a mountain.
"What did you do to it?" Cody asked.
"What we do to all of them. We hollow them out. We take the magic, the rage, the hunger—and we replace it with obedience." Eddie stood, brushing his hands on his pants. "Real power isn't chaos, Cody. Real power is order. Control. Making the unpredictable predictable."
"You're torturing them."
"I'm saving lives."
The wolf whimpered again.
Eddie's hand went to his belt—to the device there, the one that controlled the brands—and the wolf fell silent. Its red eyes dimmed. Its trembling stopped. It lay still, perfectly still, like a machine that had been switched off.
"That's what our father wanted," Eddie said. "Before the Despair Bomb took him. He wanted a world where magic couldn't hurt anyone anymore. Where monsters stayed monsters—locked away, controlled, useful."
"Our father wanted a world without magic."
"Same difference."
Cody's hands were shaking.
He could feel Amanda's eyes on him—her concern, her fear, her desperate hope that he wouldn't break. He could feel Maryam's tension, coiled tight as a spring. He could feel the weight of the mountain pressing down, the pulse of the runes in the walls, the whisper of something ancient stirring in the depths.
He took a breath.
"I want to see the lower levels," he said.
Eddie's eyebrows rose.
"The lower levels are restricted."
"I'm here to complete my father's work." Cody's voice was steady. He was proud of that. "I need to see everything."
Eddie studied him.
Then he smiled.
"Maybe you're not as soft as you look."
He turned and started walking.
Cody followed.
---
They returned to their quarters two hours later.
The room was exactly as they'd left it—three cots, bare walls, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling that flickered at irregular intervals. The air smelled like mold and dust and the faint, sour tang of fear.
Cody sank onto his cot.
He stared at the floor.
The stone was dark and veined with glowing fungus—like everything else in this place—and he traced the patterns with his eyes, trying to ground himself, trying to remember who he was.
Amanda knelt in front of him.
Her hands cupped his face.
Her blue eyes were bright with tears she wouldn't shed—Amanda MacInteyre didn't cry, couldn't cry, had spent years training herself not to cry because showing weakness meant losing.
"We're going to get out of this," she whispered.
"I know."
"Do you?"
He didn't answer.
She kissed his forehead. His nose. His lips.
"I love you," she said. "And we're going to burn this place to the ground."
The door opened.
Maryam slipped in—silent, quick, her face pale but her jaw set. She closed the door behind her and stood there for a moment, just looking at them.
Then she spoke.
"We need to fuck ourselves calm."
Cody blinked.
"What?"
"Right now. Before one of us breaks." Maryam pulled off her baseball cap and tossed it onto the nearest cot. "I saw what you saw in there. I saw those things. Those people. And I can feel myself starting to—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I need to reset. And I know you do too."
Amanda was already standing.
She pulled her shirt over her head.
Her body was lean and pale under the flickering bulb—small breasts, flat stomach, the faint outline of ribs pressing against skin. She wasn't wearing a bra. She never wore a bra.
"I hate this place," she said.
"I know."
"It smells like death."
"I know."
"I want to kill Eddie Murphy with my bare hands."
"Join the club." Maryam was stripping now, fumbling with her jeans. "But first, we reset. Then we kill him."
Cody watched them move.
Amanda's hands found Maryam's waist. Maryam's fingers tangled in Amanda's blonde hair. They kissed—hard, desperate, the kind of kiss that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with survival.
"You're both insane," he said.
"We know." Amanda pulled away from Maryam, her lips swollen. "Take off your clothes."
"I—"
"That wasn't a request."
Cody took off his clothes.
The air was cold. It was always cold. But then Amanda's hands were on his chest—warm, so warm—and Maryam was behind her, her mouth on Amanda's neck, and suddenly he wasn't cold at all.
They moved to the cot.
Amanda pushed him down. Maryam straddled his legs. Amanda climbed onto the cot beside them, her hand sliding between Maryam's thighs, finding the wet heat there and making Maryam gasp.
"Izayd," she moaned. "Bikuli haliqat—"
"English," Amanda murmured.
"Fuck me. Just—" Maryam's hips bucked. "Just fuck me."
Cody didn't need to be told twice.
He pushed up, into her.
She was tight and wet and burning hot, and the feeling of it—of being inside someone, of being wanted—cut through the fog of horror and despair that had been building since they entered this place.
Maryam rode him.
Her hips found a rhythm—slow at first, then faster—and her head fell back, her short dark hair falling across her face, her mouth open in a sound that was half-moan, half-sob.
Amanda's fingers worked between them—circling Maryam's clit, dipping down to where Cody's cock entered her, spreading wetness and pressure and raising the heat. When Amanda's fingers moved lower, finding her own cunt, Cody shuddered. Because Amanda was watching him—watching them—and she was touching herself to the sight. Her hand moving in quick, desperate circles, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Don't stop," she whispered. "Please don't stop."
No one stopped.
Maryam came first.
Her cunt clamped down on Cody's cock, hard and rhythmic, and she made a sound—sharp, broken, almost angry—as she rode out the waves of it. The pleasure didn't soften her. It sharpened her. When she looked down at Cody, her hazel eyes were burning.
"Your turn," she said.
She slid off him.
Before Cody could process what was happening, Amanda was there—straddling him now, her blonde hair falling around her face like a curtain. She lowered herself onto his cock with a sigh that was almost peaceful, almost content.
"I've got you," she said.
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She started to move.
Her pace was different from Maryam's—slower, deeper, more deliberate. She moved like she was making a point, like she was marking her territory, like she was telling him without words that she was his and he was hers and nothing—not Eddie Murphy, not the living mountain, not the whole Consortium—could change that.
Maryam crawled up the cot.
She positioned herself above Cody's face.
The smell of her—musky and sweet and intimately female—filled his nostrils. She lowered herself slowly, she did it deliberately. Her knees braced against the cot, her thighs framing his head. Her cunt was right there, wet and swollen and still trembling from her orgasm.
"Lick," she said.
He licked.
She tasted like salt and sweat and something sharper—something that was purely her. He ran his tongue along her slit, finding her clit with practiced precision. She bucked against his mouth, and her hand found his hair, gripping hard enough to hurt.
"Good," she gasped. "Good, keep—keep doing that—"
Amanda rode him harder.
Maryam ground against his face.
And Cody—Cody felt himself starting to lose control. The pleasure was building, coiling in his gut, spreading through his limbs. He could taste Maryam on his tongue, feel Amanda around his cock, feel their bodies pressed against him from both sides.
The room was still cold.
The bulb was still flickering.
The runes in the walls were still whispering.
But none of it mattered. In this moment, there was only the three of them. Only heat and flesh and the desperate, human need to feel something other than fear.
Amanda came with a cry.
Her body convulsed around him—cunt clenching, thighs shaking, nails digging into his chest. The sight of her—head thrown back, mouth open, face flushed with pleasure—was enough to push him over the edge.
He came inside her.
His hips bucked. His hands found her hips, gripping hard. He emptied himself into her with a groan that was almost a sob, and she collapsed onto his chest, breathing hard.
Maryam came a moment later.
Her thighs clamped around his head. Her fingers twisted in his hair. She made a sound—high and sharp and broken—and then she was sliding off him, collapsing onto the cot beside them, her chest heaving.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The flickering bulb buzzed.
The runes pulsed.
And Cody—Cody felt something loosen in his chest. Something that had been clenched tight since they entered this place. He was still terrified. He was still furious. He was still trapped in a mountain that wanted to eat his soul.
But he wasn't alone.
Amanda's hand found his.
Maryam's hand found Amanda's.
They lay there in the flickering light, naked and tangled and still trembling, and for just a moment, the mountain's whispers seemed to fade.
"We're going to get out of this," Amanda said again.
And this time, Cody believed her.
The silence stretched for three heartbeats before reality reasserted itself.
Cody sat up slowly, his body still humming with residual pleasure and something else—something that felt dangerously close to hope. Amanda's hand was still tangled with his, her fingers cool against his palm, and Maryam had rolled onto her side, her breath evening out in the flickering light.
"We should sleep," Maryam said.
"Can't."
"Try anyway." She pulled the thin blanket over her legs, leaving her torso bare. "Tomorrow we figure out how to sabotage the mountain's defenses. Tonight we rest."
Cody lay back down.
The cot was too short for him—his feet hung over the edge—but he'd stopped noticing that two days ago. He stared at the ceiling, at the veins of glowing fungus that pulsed in rhythm with something deep in the mountain's chest, and tried not to think about the branded creatures in the pens above them.
He failed.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the warg. Saw its red eyes dimming when Eddie touched the control device. Saw the way it whimpered like a beaten dog. He wondered how many people it had actually killed, and how many had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Amanda's breathing slowed.
Maryam's too.
But Cody lay awake for hours, listening to the mountain breathe.
---
Four levels below them, Hank Powers was doing the same thing.
His cell was smaller than a broom closet—barely wide enough to lie down, barely tall enough to stand. The walls pressed in on all sides, slick with condensation, and the only light came from a strip of bioluminescent fungus that ran along the ceiling like a jagged scar.
Across the corridor, Fatima's cell mirrored his.
She was sitting with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her dark hair hanging limp around her face. She hadn't moved in hours. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't opened her eyes.
Hank watched her through the bars.
"You still with me, Fati?"
A long pause.
"I'm here."
"You don't look here."
"I'm saving my strength."
"For what?"
"For when Kim gets here."
Hank laughed—a short, humorless sound that echoed off the stone. "You sound pretty sure she's coming."
"She's my daughter." Fatima opened her eyes. They were bloodshot, rimmed with red, but still sharp. Still hers. "Of course she's coming."
Eddie Murphy had come by three hours ago.
Hank had watched him stop in front of Fatima's cell, had watched him smile that thin, clinical smile, had watched him pull out the device that controlled the brands. The device that could hollow out a person's soul and replace it with obedience.
"I've been thinking about what to do with you," Eddie had said.
Fatima hadn't answered.
"You're powerful. The Green Moon doesn't produce many like you—most of them are party tricks and sex magic, but you, you've got teeth." Eddie had turned the device over in his hands, studying it like a child studying a new toy. "I could brand you. Make you useful. The 'deadliest motherfucker in Chicago' would make quite the guard dog."
Hank had gripped the bars until his knuckles went white.
"Or I could leave you here. Let the mountain feed on you. It's been hungry lately—the Shine's departure left a void." Eddie had shrugged. "Either way, what makes you special will be gone. Just a matter of time."
He'd walked away whistling.
Hank had spent the hours since trying to figure out an angle. A plan. Something.
He'd come up with nothing.
He had no magic—never had, never would. He was a car mechanic from Chicago, a former high school football captain with a bad back and a bum knee. He couldn't punch his way out of this. He couldn't think his way out of this. He couldn't do anything but sit in his cell and watch his wife slowly fade.
"I dreamed about the Shine last night," he said.
Fatima looked up.
"What?"
"The light. The vault. The whole thing." He rubbed his face with both hands. "It was beautiful. Warm. I wanted to step into it."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He met her eyes.
"Because you weren't there."
Fatima's expression softened—the first crack in her armor since they'd been captured. She pushed herself off the wall, crawled across the cell floor, reached through the bars. Hank did the same from his side.
Their fingers touched.
"We are getting out, habibi," she said.
"You sound sure."
"I am sure. I have to be." Her grip tightened. "Because if I'm not sure, I'll break. And I can't break. Not yet."
Hank nodded.
He didn't feel sure. He felt terrified—bone-deep, gut-twisting, scream-until-his-throat-ripped terrified. He'd seen the branded monsters in the upper levels. He'd seen what Eddie Murphy did to things that fought back.
But he looked at his wife—her dark eyes, her steady hands, her absolute refusal to surrender—and he found himself believing her.
"Okay," he said. "We're getting out."
---
The taxi pulled up to the beach house at 2:47 PM.
Mandy stepped out first, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, her eyes already scanning the house for threats. The windows were open, the curtains billowing in the ocean breeze, and she could hear voices inside—multiple voices, too many voices.
"Expecting someone?" Ben asked.
"No."
Jess was already moving toward the door.
She was in Agent Kay mode now—shoulders squared, hand resting on the concealed holster beneath her jacket, eyes cataloguing exits and cover positions. Mandy had seen her shift like this before. It was like watching a light switch flip.
The door opened before they reached it.
Felicity stood in the doorway, her blonde hair still damp from the shower, her cheeks flushed pink. She was wearing a t-shirt that was definitely not hers—it had a Scottish rugby team logo on it—and her legs were bare.
"You're here," she said.
"We're here."
"Good." Felicity stepped aside. "We have a situation."
Mandy walked into the living room.
And stopped.
Kim Powers was sitting on the couch, a whetstone in one hand and her curved sword in the other. She was dressed in black—leggings, tank top, a leather harness that held two smaller blades against her ribs—and her hazel eyes were focused, sharp, unblinking.
She looked up when Mandy entered.
"About time."
"Kim."
"Williamson."
Behind Kim, scattered around the living room in various states of relaxation, was a team.
Rainbor sat in the armchair by the window, his massive frame spilling over the edges. The orc was eating from a bag of his own candy—Rainbor's Premium Blood Orange Chews, the wrapper said—and his axe was leaning against the wall beside him. He nodded when he saw Mandy.
"Good flight?"
"Turbulent."
"Always is."
Katie Manelli was sprawled on the floor, her gray van parked outside, her combat boots propped on a throw pillow. She was wearing a black band t-shirt and ripped jeans, and she was scrolling through her phone with the air of someone who had been waiting for hours and had long since run out of patience.
"Hey, Mandy."
"Katie."
"Nice place. Rent-controlled?"
"Family discount."
Lena sat beside Katie, her head resting on Katie's shoulder. She was smaller than Mandy remembered—delicate, almost fragile—but her eyes were warm, and she smiled when she saw the newcomers.
"Hi."
"Hi."
Paulette was in the kitchen.
Mandy could see her through the pass-through window, moving around with the manic energy of someone who couldn't sit still. She was making coffee. She was also, apparently, reorganizing the spice rack.
"Paulette?"
"Oh!" Paulette appeared in the doorway, her perpetual smile firmly in place. "Mandy! You're here! I'm making coffee. Do you want coffee? You look like you need coffee. When's the last time you slept?"
"I don't remember."
"That's not good."
"I know."
And then there were the others.
Vivian stood by the back door, her red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her leather jacket creaking as she shifted her weight. She looked uncomfortable—she always looked uncomfortable—but Dale was beside her, his hand on her lower back, his shaved head gleaming in the afternoon light.
"Mandy," Dale said.
"Dale."
"Sorry about—" He gestured vaguely at the room. "All of this."
"Don't be. We're going to need everyone."
The back door opened.
Jenny walked in first—red hair, green eyes, the spitting image of her mother Brigid. She was carrying a laptop bag and wearing a t-shirt that said "I Survived the Bentley Ridge Incident" in faded letters.
"Hey, everyone."
"Jenny."
Beth came next, and Mandy felt something loosen in her chest when she saw her sister. Beth was wearing shorts and a tank top, her short blonde hair windblown, her camera bag slung over one shoulder. She crossed the room and hugged Mandy without a word.
"You okay?" Mandy asked.
"Been better."
"Same."
Marty came last.
He was tall—taller than Mandy remembered—with his father's blue eyes and his grandmother's red hair. He moved with the careful deliberation of someone who was still learning how his body worked in this world, still figuring out where his edges were.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, Marty."
"Is this—" He looked around the room, at the orc and the half-succubus and the woman sharpening a sword. "Is this normal?"
"For us? Yes."
"Oh. Okay."
Kim stood up.
The whetstone went into a pocket. The sword went into its sheath. And Kim Powers—the deadliest motherfucker in Miami, as she had recently decided—took control of the room.
"Everyone sit down," she said. "We have three hours before the last of the shard-bearers arrive. We need a plan."
People moved.
Mandy found a spot on the floor next to Beth. Ben sat behind her, his knees against her back, solid and warm. Jess took the chair by the window, her eyes still scanning the street outside.
Kim spread a map on the coffee table.
It was a topographical map of the Everglades, marked with pencil lines and notations. Mandy could see the mountain on it—a dark shape near the center, surrounded by swampland.
"The living mountain," Kim said. "It's been there for centuries. The Consortium found it in the eighties, cut a deal with it in the nineties, and started using it as a prison in the two-thousands. It feeds on magic, so it's been getting stronger ever since."
"How do we get in?" Jess asked.
"There's a service entrance on the north face. My people have been watching it for weeks. Two guards, rotating shifts, minimal magical defenses."
"And inside?"
"That's where it gets complicated." Kim tapped the map. "The upper levels are mostly holding pens and guard stations. The lower levels are where they keep the prisoners. And then there's the vault."
"The vault where the Shine was," Mandy said.
"Exactly. The Shine moved—we don't know where—but the vault is still there. And whatever the Shine was guarding is still inside it."
Lena raised her hand.
"Yes?"
"This is going to sound stupid," Lena said, "but how does an entire mountain stay hidden in Florida? Florida doesn't have mountains. It's flat. It's the flattest state in the country."
Kim smiled.
"Magic."
"I figured. But like—how?"
"The mountain decides who sees it. If it doesn't want you to see it, you don't. Tourists have been driving past it for decades. They see swamp. They see trees. They don't see a mountain."
"That's terrifying."
"Most things are."
Mandy leaned forward.
"What about the defenses?"
"That's where Maryam comes in." Kim pulled out her phone. "She's been sending coded messages through Jenny. The automated defenses are tied to the mountain's central nervous system—if she can get to the control room, she can shut them down."
"Can she?"
"She thinks so. But she needs time." Kim looked at Rainbor. "That's where you come in. Your group hits the front entrance. Draws attention. Gives Maryam the window she needs."
"And the shard-bearers?"
"We don't move on the vault until all four of you are here. Myself, Shiv, and Brigid—we can handle the branded monsters. We can handle the Consortium troops. But the vault is yours."
Mandy nodded.
"How many troops are we talking?"
"Two hundred. Maybe more. But most of them are low-level—security guards, techs, administrative staff. The real threat is Eddie Murphy and his personal guard."
"Eddie Murphy."
"Cody's brother. He's running the Miami cell now." Kim's expression hardened. "He's smart. He's careful. And he's been experimenting on magical creatures for years. He's the one who developed the branding process."
"He's a monster."
"He's worse. He thinks he's a hero."
The room was quiet for a moment.
Then Mai spoke.
"OH MY GOD, FLICK!? WERE YOU AND BRUCE FUCKING NONSTOP FOR THE PAST THREE DAYS!?"
Everyone turned.
Felicity's face went scarlet.
"What?"
"The smell. The sheets in the dryer. The way you're walking." Mai grinned—wide and wicked. "You've been going at it like rabbits."
"I—"
"There's a dent in the couch cushion shaped like Bruce's ass."
Felicity buried her face in her hands.
Bruce appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, a mug of coffee in his hand, his Scottish accent thick with sleep.
"What's all the yelling about?"
"The couch dent, Bruce."
He looked at the couch. Then at Felicity. Then at the room full of people staring at him.
"Aye," he said. "That'll happen."
Katie snorted.
Lena laughed.
Rainbor offered Bruce a piece of candy.
And Mandy—despite everything, despite the mountain and the monsters and the brother who thought he was a hero—felt something close to hope.
They were here. They were together. And they were going to burn it all down.