Perils of the Gossamer Ghost (1 Viewer)

[PhantomLady]

Hey, folks! Coming back to these forums after some time away, wanted to see if anyone might enjoy some of the superheroine in peril fiction I've been writing. These stories are meant to be a little lighter than usual ryona fare (the heroine survives to the end, even if she gets put through a lot of misery and humiliation before then). Any and all feedback is welcome, here, especially anything that might make the story more fun! Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read, hope you enjoy!



SILENT SCREAM OF THE ZOMBIE, part one
A Gossamer Ghost Peril


Thursday nights at the museum were far from busy. At least, for the most part. Exhibitions closed, most of the staff gone for the night, only the two security guards remained. Two guards, and Layla Sabri.

The gifted young graduate student found these midnight shifts at the museum to be her favorite. No voices to distract her from her work. No guests, no questions, just Layla and the stacks of books, reams of historical paperwork and boxes of items in need of cataloging. Which was why, when a scream echoed down the long halls of the museum, the shock nearly made Layla cry out herself!

Layla had been dressed for a long night’s work: white tank top, hip-hugging slacks and a tight ponytail. Aside from her tight black leather Weitzmans, Layla could have made an easy break for it. The fearful research student placed a hand over her heart, and slowly pushed her chair away from the desk- though not before tapping out a quick message on her phone, and hitting “send.”

Layla walked carefully when she got up, not wanting to be seen before she could see what was going on. The young Egyptian-American student’s heart was in her throat. The scream was a man’s … one of the security guards, Layla had to assume. Where was the other? Why wasn’t the alarm going off, if someone had broken in? It wasn’t often that the young history student didn’t have any answers, and she didn’t care for the feeling.

Coming toward a corner, Layla stopped. Peering around, she cast a quick glance around the high-walled marble hallway. At first, there was nothing- then, a shadow crossed the floor. Tall and lanky, accompanied by the shuffling of shoes. Layla put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp. She could feel sweat forming across her brow. And the shadow stopped.

Biting her lip, Layla slowly crept back. Somehow, the intruder had heard her. Slowly, Layla peeled her shoes off her feet, figuring her stocking feet would make less noise against the marble flooring. Leaving them, Layla backed up, step by step, until she felt her perky bottom come bumping into a firm, unexpected figure!

“AH!” she cried out, standing straight up. Spinning around, the young woman stared straight up at another towering figure. Arms flat at his sides, the man loomed over her with a glazed, uncaring expression. The first place that Layla’s mind went to, looking at him, were the lifeless recreations of mummified bodies that the museum would piece together. Her second thought was to make a break for it, but a strong hand shot out to clasp her, holding her tight!

“Oww,” Layla whimpered. She jerked back, but the intruder’s fingers wouldn’t budge. Clumsily, Layla’s fist pounded down on his chest, to no avail. He didn’t even react to her blows, instead holding her tight. Looking past the frightened young woman, the brute began to walk. Layla was dragged along, realizing how useless and futile her attempts at resistance were.

The towering man shuffled down the hall, with Layla in tow. Layla’s eyes widened in horror as, at the end of the hall, she saw the body of one of the museum security guards- his face a grim mask of death, the life choked clean out of him. Above him, there loomed another of these impassive, intimidating men. The same plain clothes, the same uncaring expression. Layla chewed her lip, panic mounting as these ghastly men dragged her unwilling self across the hall.

“Hold it!” Layla’s ears perked up, as she heard the heavy footfalls of boots coming down the hall. “Let Miss Sabri go,” warned an elderly voice. In both hands, the museum security guard was gripping his taser. Layla didn’t know if the guard knew what had happened to his partner, or what was even happening to her. Layla’s eyes widened in horror, however, as she saw a lanky arm reach from the darkness, grab the guard by his neck, and kill him with a single jerk!

“AAAHH!” Layla shrieked, watching the old guard fall to the floor. A third lumbering brute stepped out of the darkness. With an arm, the murderer clutched a small bronze item. Layla strained her eyes, trying to identify it: an urn of some sort, but in the dim light she couldn’t place exactly which of the museum’s artifacts it was. All she could make out was the general shape, and the shards of display case glass protruding from the lanky monster’s arm. A chill ran down Layla’s spine, as she felt a powerful hand clamp down around her neck, threatening her with the same fate that had just befallen those poor, poor guards …

Before that could happen, however, a white disc came flashing into view. In a flash, it bounced off of one lumbering brutes’ skull to another, knocking both off balance. Jerking forward, Layla fell to the ground and scrambled away from her assailants. She didn’t stop until she came to a pair of white boots. Looking up, Layla saw the svelte figure of her savior, the Gossamer Ghost!

The Ghost cut an impressive figure, hands on her hip and cloak billowing behind her. Margo Fox smiled beneath her hood, cheeks inching at her mask. Most criminals in the city were completely unprepared for their first time seeing the Ghost in action: a curvaceous young woman, clad in a white lace camisole that swayed down her body from a lace bra that struggled to keep her impressive bust in check. From there, white silk shorts that hugged ample hips, leading to thigh-high boots. Standing confidently before her foes, the Gossamer Ghost was an intimidating figure- but if these intruders were impressed, it didn’t seem to show on their dead faces.

Margo didn’t miss a beat however, getting back to work! Reaching into her cloak, Margo produced another disc and whipped it at the third assailant. It rocked off his skull, knocking slightly off balance. Margo’s eyes widened, however, when the brute remained on his feet after taking a blow that would knock any other man she’d faced clear on his back!

Meanwhile, the others lumbered toward her. Clearly, they’d identified a threat and were out to stop her cold. As the brute leaned forward, Margo clutched a slow-moving wrist and tried to jerk him down with a hip toss. Tucking her hips against the brute’s thigh, Margo pulled hard- and failed miserably to complete the throw!

“Hnn!” Margo grunted, “Like throwing a rock wall!” Margo’s eyes widened, beneath her mask. With a stiff motion, the brute clasped his arm around her, grappling Margo beneath her ample breasts and hoisting the young crime fighter off of the ground. Margo’s legs kicked uselessly in the air, as she struggled helplessly.

“D-dammit,” Margo grunted, as she felt the brute clamp down on her ribs. She could feel her body compressing, the air being squeezed out of her lungs. The other brute came around to flank her, trying to sandwich Margo’s body between them. Acting quickly, Margo thrust her legs forward, kicking the brute hard in the sternum and knocking him back a few steps. Still, the Ghost’s face began to redden, as the vice-like grip tightened around her helpless body.

“Aah! N-no,” Margo protested, as her midsection grew tighter and tighter. It was horrifying, the young heroine never having faced strength like this before. Weakly, she tried to fumble in her cloak for another weapon, a tool- anything that might help her. Her fingers were losing strength, however, her extremities feeling heavier and heavier with every moment.

From a distance, Layla’s eyes began to water. When she’d sent the text before leaving the office, Layla thought she was getting help from her friend, the Gossamer Ghost- not leading poor Margo Fox to her death!

Layla’s horror only magnified, as she watched Margo struggle and groan in agony, as the vice-like bear hug tightened. Terror froze Layla, as Margo tried weakly to thrash and fight her way out. Margo’s eyes rolled back in her head, her soft pink tongue beginning to poke out from between her ruby red lips. Layla had been Margo’s friend through several adventures, seen her face numerous impossible foes. The grad student never thought that the poor heroine’s career would end like this, squeezed to death right in front of her!

Finally, with a rough gasp, Margo went soft. Her curvaceous body went limp in the monster’s arm. Her legs fell toward the ground. Eyes open beneath her mask, Margo’s head lulled back, and she let out a rattling breath. The monster held her a moment longer, let her lifeless body sway in her arms, before he dumped her unceremoniously to the floor. Layla watched, hands clasped over her mouth in terror as she watched her friend fall limp to the ground.

In unison, the three lumbered down the hall. Trembling, Layla didn’t take her eyes off of Margo’s body as the intruders walked past her. They didn’t even slow down, clearly not seeing the frightened young woman as a threat. Layla was snapped out of her misery by the shattering of glass, one of the brutes casually punching through a window to make good their escape. Before they could, however, a flash of motion came from behind Layla: a rope, sailing through the air, a thin hook at the end wrapping around the shoulder of the brute!

“Oh, thank God!” Layla gasped, turning to see the Gossamer Ghost alive and well. Margo was grinning ear to ear beneath her mask, as she gave a hard yank on the rope and pulled the lumbering brute off-balance. The leverage allowed Margo to succeed at this toss, making the brute crash into his co-conspirators and send all three fumbling clumsily to the floor!

Running at full speed, Margo snatched Layla by the wrist and rushed for the crowd. Trusting her friend, Layla let herself be led along, as the Gossamer Ghost ran to the mass of bodies. The brutes were slow to recover, giving Margo enough time to snatch up the urn, and go diving out the window with Layla in tow.

“EEEEEEK!” Layla wailed, as she and Margo went tumbling out the window. Margo had no free hand, with one arm holding the urn and the other wrapping around Layla’s waist to pull her body tight against her. Layla hugged the Ghost’s neck, terror seizing her again as she watched the city street rushing up to meet them. Quickly, Margo tucked the urn between Layla’s arm and her chest, fitting the cool bronze tight against their skin. Then, with an extension of her wrist, Margo pulled a line and let out a gauzy parachute.

“Y-you have one of those!?” Layla said, her voice a high screech, “why on Earth would you have one of those?”

“We’re using it, aren’t we?” Margo said with a laugh, the two women catching enough wind on the chute to not break their legs upon landing. Mysterious urn in hand, strangely inhuman thieves behind them, the two young women ran off into the dark, hoping to make it back to the safety of their penthouse apartment before this night got any worse.


The women that shared Margo’s penthouse apartment were accustomed to late-night appearances and a high level of drama. It all went along with sharing an apartment with the infamous “Gossamer Ghost,” and being part of the so-called “Justice Sorority” that helped her in her war on crime. So when Margo and Layla came rushing in, the girls were quick to react.

In the living room, Kimi Li and “Mad” Maggie Annis were enjoying a fairly quiet night of cheesy grind house films, before Margo had slammed open the skylight and dropped in with a breathless Layla in tow. It was just a few moments before Kimi had Layla bundled up in a comfortable blanket, and Maggie had uncorked a bottle of wine.

“W-what was that?” Layla gasped, when she could finally control herself enough to talk. She’d been assisting Margo in her research for some time, now, but this was the first time she’d ever actually seen her costumed friend in action.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Margo said, placing the bronze urn on the center of the coffee table.

“I thought I saw you die, Margo!”

“Sorry about that,” Margo said, taking a seat on the couch next to her friend. She slid her hood off. “I can’t imagine how scary that was. It was pretty desperate, actually! Those … things … were strong, but not very bright. So, I figured if I could fake getting choked out, they’d figure I wasn’t a threat. The way they left you alone, when you were down the hall. Bastard nearly crushed my ribs, so I’m lucky that worked!”

“Good Lord,” Layla said, shaking hand gratefully taking a wine glass from Maggie, “this is what you do all the time. Thanks for coming when I texted you …”

“Of course. I put my ass on the line for this entire city, you think I wouldn’t do it for one of my sisters?” Margo put her hand on Layla’s shoulder, and gave her a squeeze. Hopefully reassuring her.

“What on Earth happened,” Kimi asked, “and what’s this thing on our coffee table?” Over the course of a glass and a half each, Margo and Layla related the evening’s details to their eagerly waiting friends.

“Well,” Maggie said, in her Scottish accent, “that’s a hell of a night, ennit?”

“Glad you two are okay,” Kimi said, cocking an eyebrow, “but that doesn’t settle the issue of what’s on our coffee table. That thing’s creepy.”

“It is an urn,” Layla said, holding out her empty glass for more, “I-I am not sure from where. Central America, I would guess. Not sure whose, but I can look it up. When I stop screaming internally for a few minutes.”

“Did you see that guy’s arm, Layla?” Margo asked, “He didn’t even react to all that glass, in there. Like it was nothing. And that strength … it wasn’t human.” Margo shuddered, remembering that arm that nearly squeezed the life out of her.

“Maybe it was zombies!” Maggie said, excitedly, “They’re all the rage, now!” The attempt at levity fell short, as the room went quiet.

“You’re insane, Maggie,” Kimi said, topping Layla off.

“Hey, you lot love me being Mad,” Maggie said, “Mad Science is best science! Besides, if I hadn’t figured out that short-distance parachute, sounds like we’d be pouring this wine out in the dirt for Margo and Layla!”

“Mad science is best science,” Margo said, agreeing with her friend. And the Ghost was indeed grateful for Maggie’s work. Since they’d met, the young Scottish engineer had put together the kinds of tools that might seem totally impossible, if Margo hadn’t seen them firsthand. More than once- and more than just tonight, even- Maggie’s tricks and gadgets were all the difference between success and certain, horrible death.

“Look,” Kimi sighed, “it’s over. From the sound of it, those guys couldn’t have followed you here. You obviously need some rest, once you let me check you over for more serious injuries. Maybe Layla can identify this in the morning, and you can plan from there. When you’ve recovered.”

Margo nodded. “Thanks, Kimi. And maybe Maggie can find a way to help me take out our lanky ‘zombies,’ while we’re at it. We’ve thwarted the robbery,” Margo looked down at the urn, “but this case is certainly far from closed …”


Margo woke the next day with a wince. She wrapped her arm around her aching rib, still smarting from that death grip. Margo whimpered slightly, knowing full well that another confrontation with these mystery monsters was in her future.

Luckily, it would likely be another several hours before Margo’s supervisor, CitiChannel News’ very own Elana Lange, would even notice that her assistant had called off work, first thing in the morning. The star journalist wasn’t too quick to notice things that weren’t Elana Lange, and Margo was in no shape to deal with her special brand of hell, today. Not when another sort was waiting for her, out there in the dark of the city.

Eventually, Margo was able to force her aching body out of bed and wriggle it into a blue tank top and some red flannel boy-shorts. Margo yawned and stretched, and took a long step out of her room and into the main living area of the penthouse.

There was some activity, as Margo stepped downstairs into the main room. “Mad” Maggie was hard at work on something, sketching furiously on a pad of paper. Kimi smiled up at Margo, while as she went to the open kitchen for more coffee.

“Morning!” Margo said, through a yawn.

“Morning, spookytits!” Maggie teased, not looking up from her pad.

“Morning, Margo, how’d you sleep?” Kimi said.

“Like the dead,” Margo replied.

“Hah,” Maggie interjected. Margo winced at the unintended pun.

“Layla left something for you,” Kimi said, handing off a thick white mug of coffee off to sleepy Margo, before sitting down on the couch. She was smiling, but Margo could feel the worry radiating off of her friend.

“Thanks, Kimi,” Margo said, “I imagine she had a lot to do, this morning.”

“Little bit,” Maggie said.

“She went back to the museum last night,” Kimi said, as Margo’s eyes widened, “after the police arrived. She wanted to give as full a testimony as she could. I think they still have her there, cataloging the damage. I think Layla mentioned how she got out of there … even if she wasn’t going to mention exactly how the Gossamer Ghost knew to arrive, when she did.”

Margo nodded, sipping from her coffee cup. “Or where the urn ended up, I assume?”

“Not for now, at least,” Kimi said. Kimi patted the sofa, inviting Margo to sit next to her. Maggie couldn’t help but smirk, but didn’t look up from her sketch pad.

“Good, good,” Margo said. “But we still don’t know what this thing is, or why those creepy guys wanted it …”

“Nah,” Maggie said, looking up, “your girl’s got you covered! Check out the fun little info-pack she put together!” Margo looked over to the coffee table, where a manila envelope sat waiting for her. “It’s like a whole dossier, with some pictures and safety clips and I think she even put a map in there! Nerd!” Maggie said all of this without looking up again from her furious schematic-sketching.

Margo quickly laid out the paperwork inside the envelope, spreading it across the coffee table. Her wide eyes darted across each and every one of them, eagerly devouring the contents of Layla’s report.

Layla had managed to dig up a considerable amount of history, for the arcane object. As Margo learned, the urn dated back a few hundred years, to a nun that lived and worked along the Mexican-American border. Known as “Sister Sanguine,” she was one of a small handful of the clergy who would minister to the sorts of criminals and transients that worked and drifted along that area. But always at a price.

For every lost soul she helped and turned back onto the street, this “Sister Sanguine” would turn them out in the service of “Santa Muerte.” Margo had heard the name before- a non canonical saint worshiped by the criminal underworld, one that the Sister demanded nothing less than undying devotion to. And according to several eyewitness accounts, “undying” was the word for it.

The reports got creepier from there. That the Sister’s charges served her silently, their will completely her own, their lives completely devoted to her. They would take any hardship, any punishment, without halting. All to serve the Sister, until her death toward the turn of the century. Margo looked to the urn, as she read the last bits. That the Sister’s cremation wasn’t necessarily a voluntary matter, as her parish had burned down around her, claiming her and her followers in a fateful raid conducted by the Mexican authorities. And now, the remains of Sister Sanguine sat in an urn, just feet away from Margo Fox’s face.

Margo took a deep sigh, as she pushed the paperwork away. It put a creepy new context on this entire event Whatever the connection, Margo knew it couldn’t be good for her. Or for the city, if those stalking brutes had anything to say about it.

“What about your end of this,” Margo asked, turning toward Maggie, “any idea how I can compensate for how strong those guys are?”

“I had one idea,” Maggie said, with a shrug, “but I don’t think yer gonna be super into it.” Flipping a few of the blueprint pages from her notebook, Maggie turned the pad toward Margo: on there, a cartoon drawing of a muscle-bound Gossamer Ghost, flexing and grunting, with garishly large needles sticking out of her biceps. Kimi rolled her eyes and groaned, humorlessly.

“We’ll keep working on it,” Margo said, failing to stifle a laugh.


Margo worked hard, the rest of the day. Even having called into work, there were no days off for the Gossamer Ghost. In a spare room of the penthouse, there was a large gym. A secret room that the Justice Sorority didn’t share with any visitor, filled with weights, exercise equipment, and even a handful of trophies from the Gossamer Ghost’s adventures. A scrap of the Hot Lead Zeppelin, an aircraft fired at the city like a bullet by diabolical villainess Eva Brawn. An enormous dime, which one of Margo’s enemies had attempted to drop on his rivals. The hat of a murderer called the Hangman, who had nearly succeeded in ending the Ghost’s career once and for all.

Margo spent hours training in that room, burning through the hours of the day. It was funny- it seemed to Margo that no matter how many hours she trained, or how much stronger she had gotten, she couldn’t shed the last of her bit of softness out of her body. Her ample curves never seemed to even out to hard muscle, no matter what she did. Which lent to the Gossamer Ghost’s mystique, certainly, but it hardly seemed to give her an imposing presence. Margo mused that perhaps this was why, despite her many successes on the streets, the Ghost still struggled to gain the respect of her foes …

Margo was snapped out of her workout suddenly, as the gym door creaked open and Kimi stepped into the room. “M-Margo? You alright, there?” Kimi stared up at her friend, laid out on the weight bench. Margo’s thick legs straddling either side of it, sweat-sheened skin catching the low light of the room. Her chest was heaving with the effort of catching her breath from the long workout.

“I”m fine, Kimi, what’s wrong?” Margo wasn’t lying; the burn in her muscles felt incredibly good, at the moment. Comforting.

“We had the police scanner on in the kitchen,” Kimi said, “and there was something going on we thought you’d want to hear about.”

“Yeah?” Margo said, shoving herself up from beneath the weight bar.

“Reports of possible intruders at the Gahan Cemetery. The intruders … they’re tall, lanky, shambling buys …”

“Damn,” Margo hissed. "It’s on, then. Is Maggie ready?”

“She said she needed more time, to get a plan you would like.”

“Not enough time,” Margo said, thinking of the urn, “considering what else these guys wanted, I can’t let them get whatever they want from the cemetery.” Kimi nodded, reluctantly. Margo pushed herself off the weight bench, and rushed to her room. It was time to collect the cloak and costume of the Gossamer Ghost, and for the Ghost to get herself out on the scene. The idea of confronting those monsters directly was bad, certainly. But letting them get what they wanted seemed far, far worse …

From afar, it seemed a typical night at the Gahan Cemetery. Quiet, dark. Margo could hardly blame the city’s finest as they slowly coasted around the perimeter of the cemetery and eventually turned their headlights back to the city. Unlike them, however, the Ghost knew better.

Margo hopped a fence, and vaulted herself into the seemingly abandoned cemetery. Slowly, with careful steps, Margo stalked through the soft earth. Head darting from side to side, the young vigilante searched out the cemetery grounds. At any moment, she expected one of those deathly silent thugs to come lunging around a corner, or to stalk her down one of the narrow paths. But for long stretches, Margo walked those cemetery grounds alone.

Until she found a freshly-beaten path. Seeing indentations in the earth, footfalls that looked fresh yet heavy, Margo knew this had to be her lead. Slowly, the Ghost stalked along that path, nervously waiting to see where it would lead her.

Eventually, Margo’s chosen path led her to an outcropping- a seeming clearing in the grave markers, a single tombstone surrounded by the others. And atop that, two lanky beasts of men eagerly attacking the ground with down-turned shovels. One after the other, both of the men would thrust their shovels into the ground, working tirelessly to unearth whatever was buried beneath their feet. Margo could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Whatever they wanted, she knew it couldn’t be good. The Gossamer Ghost would have to act, and would have to act now!

Drawing one of her discuses from her cloak, Margo crept forward. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over one of the men, calculating what angle would allow her to knock off both of them. Margo knew it would be an uphill fight- outnumbered, under-powered. But she had to do something, she told herself. Anything! Margo reeled back, ready to let the discus fly, right before a powerful hand clamped down on her wrist!

“No!” Margo shouted, shocked. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the third of the brutes looming over her. Margo thrust forward with her arm, hoping to unseat him with a quick yank. Unfortunately, she might as well have been trying to throw a tree, or one of the marble statues that filled the graveyard. The other brutes turned to face her.

“Let me go!” she said, swinging one of her thick legs right into the man’s midsection. His body rocked a bit, but didn’t move. Margo was trapped. She reached into her cloak, but her arm was gripped fast by one of the brutes. “Dammit, no,” Margo moaned, as she squirmed and struggled. She was helpless in the grip of her assailants, a fact she was all too aware of. After Margo kicked and struggled uselessly in their arms, she saw a shadowy figure come sashaying toward her.

A statuesque young woman stood before her. With deep brown skin and long, luxuriant black hair, the woman cut a striking figure. Her makeup was done dramatically, in black and red, matching the ornate sequined dress that clung like a second skin to her hippy body. Grinning with blood red lips, she looked at the Gossamer Ghost as she was trapped in her minions’ grasp.

“So,” the newcomer said, “this is the little Ghost who kept me from my urn. I have to say, I’d heard stories, but … I was not prepared.” With Margo’s body held tight by the brutes, the young woman was free to stride right up to her. There was nothing Margo could do about it. There was something about this woman, though. Something that made Margo’s skin crawl.

“Who the hell are you?” the Ghost demanded, still struggling uselessly.

“I, my dear, am called El Diva de Los Muertos. And I have been waiting to meet you. The infamous Gossamer Ghost. I must say, even like this? Powerless, humiliated by my zombies? You don’t disappoint, do you?” Margo flushed red, and her eyes widened. As humiliating as this was, this Diva had used the word, hadn’t she? “Zombie.”

“You see,” the Diva continued, “I have ambitions, girl. I’m taking over the underworld, here. And not just the one you usually run around with. But if I’m going to do that, I can’t have you interfering, now can I? Clearly, you’re hard to get rid of. Even for all of your incompetence, and your tendency to get caught up like this, you’re a tough one to kill. Many hate that about you. Me, however? That’s exactly what I look for.”

As she talked, the Diva leaned in. Margo shuddered at the woman’s proximity, feeling the heat of her body against her own. It was a chill night, but Margo could feel a certain heat radiating off this woman.

“Yeah,” Margo said, as her body writhed in her futile attempts to get free, “I’m quite irritating like that. But I’m going to remind you about that ‘incompetence’ crack, when-”

“Shhhhh,” the Diva hissed, leaning forward. Margo could feel her breath on her neck. The Diva slid a hand from her cheek, sliding it down her neck and onto one of Margo’s firm, ample breasts. Margo shuddered, unsure of where this was going. “Enough talk, little Ghost. Beside, I have a job for you, tonight …”

With a flourish of her hand, the Diva produced a handful of white powder. Margo’s eyes widened. Just from the color, she could tie it to the pallor of the brutes that were holding her. The zombies.

*“W-wait,” Margo said, “what are you doing? What is this?”

“It’ll all be over soon, my darling,” the Diva cooed, “and then, you can relax … and give yourself … to me.” Leaning in, the Diva raised her face to Margo’s, and planted a firm kiss upon the crime fighter’s lips! “Mmmmhm,” the Diva moaned, letting her warm lips massage and explore Margo’s. Margo could feel her breath catch in her throat, her chest swelling against the Diva’s own.

“Mmm!” Margo moaned, unable to pull her face away from the Diva’s. Margo could feel the warmth of the woman’s body against her skin, as the Diva forced herself upon her. Margo didn’t get a chance to breathe, as she felt the Diva’s tongue lick and explore her mouth. Margo tried to pull away, but it only caused her body to rub and grind against the Diva’s figure. A moan caught in Margo’s throat, making it even harder for her to keep from losing her breath. Red-faced, humiliated, Margo had no choice but to take what the Diva was dishing out, until the Diva finally drew a moan from her lips. Margo was ashamed of the noise, but couldn’t stop herself as the Diva took all air out of her lungs.

When the Diva finally released her, Margo took a deep, involuntary breath and shuddered. As she did so, the mysterious woman raised that hand full of powder. Margo inhaled deeply of it, letting it permeate her lungs. Margo’s eyes widened in shock and horror, as she realized what she had done. The powder burned on her face and in her throat. She choked, tears flowing down her cheeks, fear gripping her chest and refusing to let go. Margo’s thrashings grew stronger then, just for a moment. The Gossamer Ghost kicked her thick legs, writhed and twisted her body to try and earn her freedom from the zombies that gripped her.

“You can’t do this to me, you bitch!” Margo said, coughing. “I-I won’t give up! I won’t! Never!” In the end, however, Margo’s arms grew heavy. Her head felt woozy, underwater. Tears were soaking her mask, as she felt the last of her free will evaporate. Margo’s body didn’t feel like her own, any more. She stood stock straight. The zombies released her. Margo Fox’s body belonged completely, then, to Diva de Los Muertos.


Diva de los Muertos stood over the open grave, looking down at a helpless Gossamer Ghost as the costumed crime fighter dug in the dirt. The zombies were getting a break, as the beautiful young vigilante was forced to crawl in the mud and finish their dark task. Cold mud caked on her body, staining her white lace costume and oozing over her bare skin. With each thrust of her arms into the dirt, Margo pulled up more earth, getting herself dirtier and dirtier as she closed in on the Diva’s goal.

Margo felt complete horror, as she carried out her task. She was completely under the Diva’s spell. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, to escape and fight again another day. Still, at the Diva’s command, she couldn’t help but throw her body into the dirt. Margo was forced to serve her mistress, to her ongoing, abject horror.

“P-please, no more,” Margo begged, lips trembling as she began to feel a hard wooden surface beneath the dirt and the dark. “Let me go!” Margo’s pleas were only met by loud, malicious laughter, from the Diva standing above her.

Eventually, Margo uncovered a casket. It looked old, cracked, filled with dirt.

“Open it,” the Diva commanded. Margo’s body trembled, as she tried to resist. In the end, however, her body defeated her will. Margo forced open the casket. Within was a woman, clad in a gauzy wedding gown. “Yes, yyeeesss,” the Diva hissed, her eyes narrowing in excitement. “Boys, get my shawl ready to travel. Ghost, come to me.”

Margo couldn’t help but step out of the muddy hole, and approach her mistress. Margo’s entire body was tense, as she helplessly obeyed the Diva. The powder had over-ridden her body, made her a puppet to this witch. The powerlessness was terrifying.

“On your knees, bitch,” the Diva commanded, looking down at Margo smugly. Margo complied, setting her knees into the dirt. The Diva brushed Margo’s cheek with the back of her fingers, as Margo flinched. “There, that’s nice, isn’t it? You’re a good little ghost, aren’t you? A much more … fun servant, than those mules.”

“Y-you witch,” Margo said, gasping as she forced the words out, “you can’t do this to me!”

“Really, Ghost? Because it doesn’t look like you can stop me.” Leaning in, the Diva took Margo by the back of the head. “From where I am, it looks like you’re my brain-dead little bitch. I just made you play in the mud for me to watch, you dirty little whore. I could just as easily make you crawl into it and make that pathetic little dirt hole your grave! Could you do anything about it? Could you?”

“N-no,” Margo was forced to admit, with a deep sigh. Margo’s face was a grim mask of misery, fighting back tears as she realized how completely and utterly defeated she was.

“But I have a much more important task for you, little Ghost. You’re going to pay me back, for stealing my urn. When we’re finished here, you’re going to go back to wherever you hid my urn, and you’re going to get it for me. And you aren’t going to let anything stand in your way. Nothing will come between you, and serving your new mistress!”

Margo cringed from the very core of her body. Diva de los Muertos was completely in control of her, now. Margo’s body couldn’t manage more than a few squirming movements, when she wasn’t being bidden by the Diva. Margo looked up at the voluptuous, powerful woman, and knew that she couldn’t do anything to fight back against her. The Diva stood so imperiously, so powerfully, she managed to make Margo feel small and soft with her very presence. Margo had never felt so humiliated, so powerless, since the first time she’d taken on the mantle of the Gossamer Ghost. The worst part, however, was what the Diva was forcing her to do next!

With Diva de los Muertos’ command in her consuming more and more of her thoughts, Margo would be forced to invade her own home. Anything that stood in her way would be seen as an enemy- even Margo’s own friends were in danger from her! Knowing this, Margo had never felt so completely defeated in her young life. Once she had the urn, Margo knew there would be nothing stopping the Diva from completing her plans, with the Gossamer Ghost as her helpless pawn!





TO BE CONTINUED

 

[noche]

this was a very entertainment read , a like your approach of more humiliation heroine theme i just hope thad for more heavy humilliated things on the future of the ghost, like get beat by a villan and throw in trash or maybe diva the los muertos make her wear a more slutty version of her current outfi
anyway great storie so far congrants

 

[Kargan3033]

Nicely done, the pace of the story is good the action is well thought out and executed and the characters are little light on the details of themselves and their backgrounds as well as their mind sets but that's not really an issue as you can always give background info and details on the characters in later chapters.

Well done I look forward to seeing what you come up with next.

 

[PhantomLady]

((Hey guys! Thanks for the feedback on the first part of the story! Really liking your ideas for future installments, will have to keep those things in mind as I write more about these characters. For now, hope you enjoy the conclusion to the Gossamer Ghost's first run-in with Diva de los Muertos!))



SILENT SCREAMS OF THE zombie, pt. 2


It was a dark, cold night in the city as the Gossamer Ghost stood in that quiet graveyard. Behind her, Diva de los Muertos loomed large and cast a dark shadow. The contrast between the two couldn’t be more stark, with the Diva standing imperiously over the Ghost. The curvaceous villain was looking resplendent, clad in a body-hugging gold and red dress. Low-cut to expose her generous bosom, gold bangles decorating her wrists and neck to highlight her radiance. Diva de los Muertos’ eyes looked striking, thick black eyeliner making her dark eyes pop as she sneered down at her defeated foe. The Diva’s red lips cracked into a smile as she watched the Gossamer Ghost squirm and writhe in the thrall of her irresistible zombie powder.

Meanwhile, the Gossamer Ghost looked pathetic, standing in knee-deep mud. Margo was wearing her usually resplendent costume, the lacy white teddy that cupped her ample breasts high, with hanging lace that hugged against her hourglass figure as it led to shimmering silken white briefs. Margo still wore the dark cloak that framed the Ghost’s body, made her such an imposing sight to the criminal underworld. At least, usually. Margo couldn’t think she was intimidating too many people standing as she was: caked in mud, stock still, helpless in the thrall of Diva de los Muertos! It brought tears to Margo’s eyes, thinking of how completely she had been defeated. Margo still hadn’t managed to wrap her brain around the Diva’s plan, but she knew it would be terrible. Any woman going to the lengths the Diva had, was certainly planning nothing good.

Standing around the duo were the zombies: a trio of men in a death-like trance. Tall, lanky and utterly impervious to pain. Margo had tangled with them twice now, and had been lucky to escape with her life. Now, they’d delivered her to their mistress with cold, apathetic faces. Margo wondered about them. Were they like her? Unwilling pawns in the Diva’s scheming? Could they be aware of the horrible things that she was forcing them to do? Or was awareness a special form of torture that the Diva had reserved for the Gossamer Ghost?

“What are you doing with me?” Margo asked, choking out the words nervously.

“Oh, my dear girl,” the Diva said, purring the words into Margo’s ear as she wrapped her arm around Margo’s shoulder. The Diva pulled her close, Margo feeling the heat of her body up against her and shivering. “I’ll be doing anything, and everything, I want with you! And when I finally have my urn back, I’ll be doing anything and everything I want, with everyone! It’s so close,” the Diva’s lips brushed Margo’s ear, “that I can taste it!”

“Nnh,” Margo groaned, “wh-what is your plan, then? Why are you doing all of this?”

“This shroud that you so generously dug up for me,” the Diva said, slowly brushing the hair away from Margo’s masked face, “is the shroud of a Lady Matlazihua, who was called the Bride of the Devil, the terror of the ancient world. She was the Elizabeth Bathory of Guantalajara, who mummified her victims and- legends tell- would then unleash them upon her enemies! A woman after my own heart, I’m sure you can understand.

“Lady Matlazihua was buried here to keep her far from her base of power, far from the minions who even served her cause in death. But they couldn’t bury her legend. It was inevitable I would find her … of course, I wasn’t expecting to get my own pet Ghost out of the bargain as well.

“The urn, however, that was far more important. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you’ve kept it from me, little Ghost. But that urn is everything to my goals. There, are housed the ashen remains of Sister Sanguine herself, the vehicle through which I will conjure her spirit. And once I have channeled her, and Lady Matlazihua, and taken them into myself, then I will be able to make my own deal with el Diablo, and take my place at his side.

“From this, I shall become el Reina del Inframundo! My powers will grow, making these pathetic zombie brutes look like child’s play compared to the armies that will be at my command!”

A chill ran down the captive Margo’s spine. Everything this woman was saying was madness, wasn’t it? In her career as the Gossamer Ghost, Margo had seen some insane things, but this was her first time brushing up against the otherworldly, like this. It all sounded so impossible … yet here she was, paralyzed by unnatural power of Diva de los Muertos. And if she was able to do this to Margo, render her so helpless so easily, then perhaps there was something to her story. The thought sent a shiver through Margo’s entire body.

“Oh, my little Ghost,” the Diva cooed, smirking, “you seem so chill. Like someone is walking on your grave. Perhaps you should get more comfortable, before what comes next. That little mask of yours can’t be entirely comfortable!”

“No!” Margo gasped, eyes widening in shock. Of all the dangers that befell her in her costumed life, the thing that Margo feared the most was exposure. To have the bold, sultry Gossamer Ghost be revealed as nothing more than Margo Fox. Young, sheepish journalist Margo Fox. Margo, the pathetic girl who cried at work every day, and hid herself away beneath layers of cardigans and scarves.

“N-no, this can’t be happening,” Margo winced, trying as hard a she could to recoil from Diva de los Muertos’ encroaching fingers, but her body wasn’t responding at all to her will. Margo squirmed and struggled, as if her entire body were in the grip of a massive invisible hand that kept her locked in its grip. Margo’s eyes widened in terror, tears began to form at the corners of her eyes, as she realized just how helpless she was against the Diva’s otherworldly powers. Then, in one swift motion, the Diva tugged at the corner of Margo’s domino mask, and stripped her of it.

“Aaah!” Margo cried, feeling the cool night air on her exposed face. Her lips curled into a pout, not able to hide one shred of her misery as her face was exposed to this dangerous woman. The Diva laughed, her voice echoing against the gravestones surrounding them.

“Well, there you are, little Ghost,” the Diva said, smirking, “there’s a pretty little face, to go with that sultry body. Does that voice have a name, to go with it?”

“M-Mar … rrgh, no …” Margo did everything she could to resist, at this point. Diva de los Muertos had stripped her of her strength, her mask, now she was pulling her identity from her! It was just one more step to leaving the poor young crime fighter completely and utterly defeated. Margo squirmed, struggled, tried to choke back the words, but simply couldn’t help it. In the end, Margo’s head slumped forward in defeat, tears flowing down her cheeks as she muttered, “Margo Fox. M-my name is Margo Fox …”

“Ha!” The Diva’s cruel laugh rocked her head back, as she arched her back, squared her shoulders and loomed over the defeated heroine. “Margo Fox. Interesting. If I decide to let you live past tonight, girl, I look forward to learning more about you. For now, however, there’s only one more thing I need from you …”

Margo shuddered. She knew this was coming. The Diva had mentioned it before, but now it was time. The command that Margo had dreaded most, and there would be nothing she could do, to resist …

“Take me back to wherever you hid the urn, Margo,” the Diva said, “and get it for me. Let nothing stand in our way. For tonight, I become the third bride of the devil, Reina del Infierno, and if you’re lucky, I’ll allow you to serve at my feet! Now go!”

Margo’s abs tightened, as she tried to resist. It was no use. The Diva’s power over her won out. Margo’s horror was palpable as she felt her body turn, and begin stalking through the night toward her penthouse. Margo was a prisoner in her own body, lacking the strength to do anything but the Diva’s bidding, an unwilling pawn in her mad game. Worse, though, was what would inevitably come out of that- a confrontation with her own friends, putting them in direct danger from the Gossamer Ghost herself, if she couldn’t fight off the Diva’s infernal control!



As the moon got higher and higher over the city, the members of the secret club called the Justice Sorority congregated in the main room of their shared penthouse. The tense tone of the room permeated everything they did, belying the placid appearance of the penthouse itself.

In the kitchen, Kimi Li was busy brewing tea. Clad in a baby blue nightgown, the young woman had her hair pulled up tightly in a bun, just a few loose strands cascading across her face. Kimi was focused entirely on her tea, a tight pout of her lips the only thing betraying how worried she actually was.

Meanwhile, on the couch, her friend “Mad” Maggie Annis was scratching away furiously at a sketchbook. The young Scottish woman, thin and pale with a blonde side cut, was dressed comfortably. A tight-fitting camisole in bright pink, with a pair of white panties to complement them. Maggie’s entire focus on her sketch pad, as she worked furiously on … something. Normally, Maggie was the scientific end of the Gossamer Ghost’s operation- any number of seemingly impossible gadgets the Ghost used in her war on crime, “Mad” Maggie Annis was behind the design and construction.. Tonight, however, Maggie was poring over her notes. Driven by her recent failure to come up with a give her an edge over the zombie brutes,, and the possible, horrible consequences of it.

Across the sofa from Maggie sat Layla Sabri. Several times that night, the wealthy young Egyptian woman had poured over the notes she’d recently passed along to her friend, Margo Fox. Margo, who had just the night before saved her life from terrifying intruders to the museum that Layla worked at. Tonight, Layla had her raven hair pulled tight into a ponytail, keeping it out of her way while she read. The buxom young woman was dressed in a silk purple tank top and shorts combo, belying the gravity of her work. If there had been any gaps in the information she had given Margo for tonight, it could have been a matter of life or death.

Occasionally, one or all of the girls would hear a noise, and turn toward the windows. It was often worrying when Margo would head out into the night alone, but tonight was a bit worse than usual- the fearsome nature of her prey, the supernatural brutes that Layla had seen first hand, were not like the Gossamer Ghost’s normal criminal foes. Each of them was trying to ignore it, but some part of them couldn’t help but worry that this would be the night that Margo Fox finally wouldn’t come home …

“Tea?” Kimi offered the room, once the water was ready.

“Sounds brilliant,” Maggie replied, in her Scottish accent, “assumin’ ye actually make it right, this time!”

Kimi sighed, “Okay, we’ll get the milk and sugar, but a double shot of Bailey’s doesn’t make tea ‘right,’ Maggie!”

“Pfft,” Maggie replied, huffing a lock of her read bangs off of her face, “shows what you know, a double shot of Bailey’s makes everything right. It’s science. I know science!”

“Mad science,” Layla teased, “which I don’t see a doctoral program for, anywhere …”

“It’s independent study,” Maggie said, “I’m breaking new ground, me! Like a Marie Curie wot knows enough to test on others, first!”

“Yeah,” Kimi said, “science with ‘Mad’ Maggie doesn’t seem to answer to much of a peer review board, does it?”

“You mean this, then?” Maggie said, producing a small syringe from her coat, “You lot said we couldn’t use it, we didn’t use it! Hopefully, Margo didn’t need it!”

“Maggie!” Kimi gasped, eyes widening as she took in the sight of the needle. She knew Maggie had something like that on her sketch book, but had no idea there was actually something she might have planned on injecting Margo with! “Where did you even get that?” Beside her, Layla shifted away, uncomfortably.

“Look-” Maggie began her protest, but all three women were immediately stopped short of arguing by the telltale sound of the window latch. The sound that often meant that the Gossamer Ghost was finally returning to the loft, after another long night of peril. Maggie quieted down, while Kimi and Layla each breathed a heavy sigh of relief. If Margo had managed to make it home safe, maybe they could table this entire, uncomfortable talk.

Upstairs, Margo Fox walked into her own apartment like in a trance. Unmasked and unhooded, there was a look of quiet desperation on her face that her friends couldn’t see, yet. There was a stiff element to her movements. Normally, at least when she had the confidence of being in costume, Margo would sashay through the room. Now, she was fighting herself. Each step was slow, deliberate, while Margo struggled to fight off the programmed commands that Diva de los Muertos had whispered into her ear.

Keeping a good distance behind her, the Diva waited with her zombie lackeys. The shuffling brutes were kept back, where the Justice Sorority girls couldn’t hear their lumbering footfalls. Only Diva de los Muertos herself approached at all, unable to resist the temptation of seeing her costumed foe forced to fight her own allies. Like the rest of the world, the Diva knew nothing of the actual group that helped the Gossamer Ghost in her crime fighting efforts. However, she could see the misery in Margo’s face as she was forced to return the Diva’s urn, at the command to do it “by any means necessary.” It wasn’t hard to deduce that whoever might stand in Margo’s way would be very important to the young woman. Barely holding back a cruel laugh, the Diva anticipated watching that connection betrayed in very physical manner …

Margo made her way through the hall, cloak billowing behind her as she reached the head of the stairs leading down to the common area. Her Justice Sorority sisters looked up at her, a mix of surprise and relief on each of their faces.

“Margo!” Kimi said first, “you’re back! Oh, thank God!”

“Were they there?” Layla asked, sitting up slightly from the couch, “Those horrible men? Did you find them at the graveyard? How did you deal with them?”

“The zombies,” Maggie added, helpfully, “she’s talkin’ about the zombies, there. Since apparently I’m the only one c’n use that word …”

“Wait, Margo,” Kimi said, detecting something was off, “where’s your mask at?”

“You need to get out of here,” Margo said, her voice trembling, “just- just get out, as fast as you can!” The urn was in plain sight, now, and Margo strode directly toward it.

“Margo, what’s going on?” Kimi asked, heading to the foot of the stairs. Margo couldn’t help but wince.

“Do it, little Ghost! Take them down!” The command came from the shadows, Diva de los Muertos’ voice echoing through the penthouse as the assembled members of the Justice Sorority gasped in shock.

“No!” Margo cried, but her body wasn’t responding to her protest. Like the Diva’s puppet, she sprung into action- diving off of the stairwell with a single leg thrust forward, drop-kicking Kimi directly in the center of her poor chest!

“Aaagh!” Kimi cried out, as the Ghost’s boot sank deep into her chest and sent her sprawling across the floor. After impact, the Gossamer Ghost landed on her boots. She stood in a low combat stance, between the sofa and the coffee table. The urn behind the Ghost, “Mad” Maggie Annis and Layla Sabri stared down their friend in a mix of shock and terror.

“Strike them down little Ghost,” the Diva taunted from upstairs. She stared down at the scene with blood lust in her eyes. The Diva’s fingers gripped the railing just at the head of the stairs, digging into the wood as she took in every ounce of misery from the young women below.

Margo trembled, still trying to fight off the effects of the Diva’s drugs. That had to be it, right? Drugs, that would get out of Margo’s system if she just fought them, right? It couldn’t be some supernatural power, like that of Sister Sanguine or Lady Matlazihua, could it? It had to be something Margo could fight. Something she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life a slave to …

“Feck, they got her!” Maggie cried out, reaching down to the foot of the couch. There, she’d stashed her bottle of Bailey’s, and she took a hearty swig of it now. Meanwhile, next to her, Layla’s chest was heaving as she fought the urge to hyperventilate.

The rich Egyptian girl had some self-defense training, but she knew she wasn’t at the Gossamer Ghost’s level. But with that cackling ghoul upstairs, and Margo seemingly lost in her spell, Layla knew she had to give it her best. Still, “Mad” Maggie cut her off before the first kick was attempted.

“Feckin’ zombies!” Maggie screamed, lunging at Margo. With a single downward thrust, Maggie managed to connect- driving the syringe she’d been holding square into Margo’s shoulder!

“Eeeeeeeeyyyaaahh!” Margo cried out. Unlike the other zombies, it seemed that the Diva had left her with the ability to feel pain. Both Maggie and Layla felt a certain degree of relief- maybe Margo’s senses were only dulled? Perhaps they could take their friend down now, and end this before it got any worse?

Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be. Reacting in a flash, Margo spun on her heel. She turned her injured shoulder away from Maggie, and spun around with a kick that knocked the wind clear out of Maggie’s belly.

“Whoof!” Maggie grunted, as Margo’s boot sank deep into her belly and took her clean off her feet. The poor Scottish girl went up and over the couch, sent tumbling like a rag doll into a deep unconsciousness on the floor.

Trying to react before Margo could, Layla stepped forward. She delivered two sharp jabs toward Margo’s face, looking to stun her. Margo easily sidestepped each one. Layla delivered a kick, swung hard at Margo’s belly. The crime fighter blocked that easily, lifting her own curvy leg into a block.

Stepping down, Margo drove both palms forward with a strike directly to Layla’s chest. “Ugh!” Layla cried, along with a loud slapping sound as Margo’s hit found yielding flesh. The move stunned poor Layla, causing her eyes to water. She clutched her chest, and stumbled back. There wasn’t far for her to run, however, as Margo reached out. Taking her friend by the back of the head, Margo thrust her down ward- Margo delivered a sharp knee to Layla’s toned belly, winding her, before throwing the poor thing tumbling into the center of the room. Layla landed near Kimi, at the edge of the coffee table. Both women were totally limp, completely unconscious, their attempts to comfort their friend- and then to stop her from making a horrible mistake- were met with abject failure!

Only Diva de los Muertos and the Gossamer Ghost remained standing, once the dust settled. Margo’s body was trembling, looking down in wide-eyed horror at what she’d done. Margo had deeply hoped that her friends, her trusted allies, could have stopped her. Pulled some clever trick, managed to defeat her highly-trained yet zombie-powder-addled body, anything that could have prevent her reducing them to this. Tears brimmed at the edges of Margo’s eyes, as she looked down at what she’d done to them.

“Short, little Ghost,” the Diva said, “but not a bad show. How does that feel, now? Knowing you disposed of your little girlfriends so easily? Knowing how vulnerable they really are?”

“I-it, it feels,” Margo didn’t want to give the Diva the satisfaction of an answer, but she had no choice. “It feels horrible …”

“Hmph,” the Diva said, sneering as she walked down the staircase, “it gets worse from here. Pick up my urn, Ghost, and present it to me.”

Margo did as she was commanded. In silence, she turned toward the coffee table, and reached down for the urn. Margo was forced to reach over Kimi’s unconscious body to do it- poor, sweet Kimi, who gave everything of herself to support Margo on her nocturnal quests as the Gossamer Ghost. The shame was enough to nearly make Margo scream.

Instead, the fallen crime fighter turned to Diva de los Muertos. Falling to her knees, prostrating herself, Margo reached out and presented the urn to her mistress.

“Good, goooood …” the Diva cooed, plucking the urn out of Margo’s hands. “With this, the ritual can begin. And I can take my true place as the Third Bride of Hell. And you, little Ghost, you get to watch. I’ll need a maid of honor, after all, for my ceremony.”

"J-just finish it,” Margo said, “just finish me off, already!” There was a part of Margo that wished the Diva would just put an end to it all, right now. To spare her the shame of what she’d done to her friends, from what she might be doing to the entire world.

“Oh no, little Ghost,” the Diva said, with a cruel laugh, “you don’t get out of this that easily. Besides,” the Diva leaned forward, sliding her hand down Margo’s chest, cupping one of her ample breasts as Margo winced, “I still have my plans for you. And from what I hear, El Diablo may have his own, as well!”

Margo couldn’t help but shudder, at that thought. No matter what the explanation for Diva de los Muertos’ unholy power over her, the implications of that sentence were too grim to ignore.

“No no, little Ghost, no,” the Diva said, “you’re coming with me, tonight. Bring the urn. If it’s any consolation? It doesn’t look like your poor little friends are going to be in any shape to suffer more, once our work here tonight is complete.” Diva de los Muertos made her way up the stairs. She looked over her shoulder at Margo, grinning wickedly. The villainess uncurled a finger, beckoning helpless Margo along. Having forced the Gossamer Ghost to act so strongly against her own nature, the Diva was confident that she had broken her opposition. Margo now belonged to Diva de los Muertos mind, body and soul. Terrifyingly to Margo, she found herself feeling largely the same.


Margo couldn’t focus her eyes through the entire walk back to Diva de los Muertos’ lair. The night darkness that covered their travels through the city made things hard to see, details difficult to pick out. Complicating matters were the tears that streamed down Margo’s cheeks, now. Completely in her enemy’s power, Margo had never felt so small or worthless as she had in Diva de los Muertos’ grip. Her body was an instrument of the Diva’s will now, not Margo’s own, and the terror of that feeling simply wouldn’t shake off of her.

In the end, however, the lot of them found their way to an open-air, rooftop garden. Wherever Diva de los Muertos had found to make her lair, it was apparently a stately space. Thick green gardens stretched from edge to edge of the rooftop, above a stately brownstone apartment. The thick greens gave off some heat, adding to a humid atmosphere. Margo peered to either side of herself, watching as the zombies shambled past her and began prying open wide glass doors for their mistress.

“Welcome to my humble home, Margo,” the Diva taunted, sashaying down some steps that led through the skylight, “please, make yourself comfortable!” Powerless to resist, Margo walked into the mansion. Sweat was forming along Margo’s brow, matting her hair against her face. The Diva’s lair had all the charm of a stately mansion, with well-stocked bookshelves and lush, rich furniture. It was a wide open space, surprising for this part of the city. Marble tile offset the oak furniture, giving Margo a clear path to a plush purple chair. Sitting down, Margo reluctantly allowed her body to sink into the soft chair cushions, turning to see what the Diva might do next.

It wasn’t until she did this, however that Margo saw the centerpiece of Diva de los Muertos’ lair: the golden brazier. At the very center of the mansion, a wide golden bowl stocked heavily with wood and pitch. Margo’s nose wrinkled, as she began to smell the gasoline that soaked the materials within. Diva de los Muertos walked before that altar.

“My things, boys,” the Diva said, lifting her arms. She snapped her fingers impatiently. As the Diva bade them, the zombies parted. One had collected the shroud, hoisting it up and holding it before the Diva. The two others took hold of candelabras, large flaming candle sets, and walked over to hold them perilously close to that brazier.

Margo looked upon the Diva’s body, her silhouette visible through the shroud. The Diva lifted her hands to her shoulders, and undid the straps of her dress. The red and gold garment spilled to the floor, and the Diva kicked it aside. Her body was completely exposed, her ample curves filling the space behind that shroud. Margo’s trapped body allowed her a bit of uncomfortable, self-conscious squirming. The Diva stretched herself out, arching her spine, drawing her legs long and lean as she laced her fingers behind herself and let out a long, loud moan.

“Little Ghost,” the Diva said, tossing her head to one side and whipping her hair over her shoulder, “bring me the urn.” Margo realized she’d had the urn in her lap this entire time. Body trembling, Margo began to walk the urn toward the Diva.

“Light!” demanded Diva de los Muertos, and the zombies thrust their flames into the brazier. Margo felt a rush of air, and her hair come blowing backward, as the brazier caught flame and lit up the mansion. Bright light cast a glow over the mansion, illuminating the Diva’s bare body in red against the sheer shroud. Diva de los Muertos pushed the shroud aside, and took the urn.

Margo was trembling at the sight of the woman. The Diva had shed her dress in favor of a much more skimpy outfit: like a dancer’s costume, a thin bit of red fabric barely restraining her almost-bare breasts, with a thin red loincloth covering the lower half of her body. Pressing against her lower back, threaded in the fabric of the loincloth, was a long, needle-like dagger.

The Diva took the ashes, and cast them into the air. Spreading her limps, Diva de los Muertos spun in the rain of ashes. Collecting them out of the sky like a snow globe, the mistress of the macabre clad herself in the remains of the previous Bride of Hell, readying herself to take that mantle!

Margo flinched, hoping not to get the ashes in her eyes. When Margo looked up again, she saw that somehow the Diva had changed once more. The ashes had smeared into skull-like pain. Eye shadow made her face pop, making her look like a grim visage of death. The white skull pattern framed her entire face, with her suddenly bright-red eyes piercing that veil to give her an even more powerful look. Margo winced, but couldn’t avert her gaze from the beautiful mistress of the dead.

Margo’s mind whirled, trying to make sense of it all. With the billowing flames of the brazier, heat licking at Margo’s exposed flesh, it had become so hard to think! Margo could feel the sheer lace fabric of her costume clinging to her flesh, beads of sweat trickling down her lower back. Margo planted her hands on her knees, and looked up at Diva de los Muertos in helpless horror. Tears ran down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat that the heat of the ritual was driving out of her. She could only imagine how pathetic she must look, especially with the dominant Diva looming over her at every moment.

First slowly, Diva de los Muertos began to dance. The zombie draped the shroud over her shoulders, as she began to shimmy them. With a look of smug superiority on her face, the Diva glared down at the helpless Margo.

“You will be my sacrifice, little Ghost,” the Diva taunted, “the pure little soul offered to El Diablo, my dowry, to show him that I am a fitting bride! The last step to my become Reina del Inframundo! To making this city a literal hell on Earth!”

Margo winced, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of the Diva. Entranced, she watched the dancing villainess gyrate before her. The Diva’s ample figure shook and shimmied enticingly before her; Margo looked at every bit of quivering, quaking flesh, every twitching muscle. Margo watched the Diva’s toned dancer’s abs as she gyrated, making herself impossible to ignore, her presence and confidence dominating the room. All the while, the Diva fixed the Ghost with a shark-like smile. Margo felt impossibly small.

Swaying her wide hips side to side, waving her hands in wide circles, the Diva was drawing Margo completely into her performance. Margo almost forgot about the lapping flames that filled the room with their heat, making her sweat nearly as much as the Diva’s performance!

Slowly, the Diva stepped back, toward the brazier. Legs spread to support herself, the Diva leaned back, letting her ample breasts drape across her body. She reached forward, and began to beckon Margo closer to her.

“Yes!” Margo moaned, unsure if it was even the drugs that made her obey, now. Margo stumbled, slightly, as she rose and began to walk toward the dancing Diva. As the Ghost approached, the Diva lifted one leg. A toned, muscular calf wrapped itself around Margo’s neck and pulled her body tight against her. Margo could feel the flush of heat coming off of her soft, supple tormentor. Margo could also feel the ashes of the urn swirling around the room, the air displacement of the massive bonfire pushing it around their bodies.

“Now,” the Diva said, “it is time for the sacrifice. Time to show El Diablo what a wonderful little subordinate you are …” With quick sleight of hand, the Diva unthreaded a dagger from her dancing gear and put it into Margo’s hand. Margo swallowed hard, taking the hot steel and pressing the tip into the soft flesh between her ample, shining breasts.

“No …” Margo whimpered. Her hand trembled, as the warm steel threatened to pierce her and give Diva de los Muertos everything she wanted. Except that this time, finally, Margo’s body actually responded to her pathetic pleas!

“Go ahead, little Ghost,” the Diva said, her voice tinged with impatience, “it’s all over, now. We finally get to end this, just like you begged me …” When Margo still didn’t plunge that knife into herself, the Diva wrapped her fingers around Margo’s. She intertwined them, ready to push in and end this … except that Margo wouldn’t let her!

“N-no …” Margo repeated, liking the sound of the word more, now, “No … NO!” Margo pushed back, then, shoving the hilt of the dagger hard into the Diva’s solar plexus. She kept pushing then, throwing Diva de los Muertos off and away from herself.

“Oof,” the Diva groaned, as the air was knocked out of her! Not expecting any resistance, it was all too easy for the Gossamer Ghost to toss the Diva back, sending the demonic dancing girl sprawling across the tile floor!

Margo couldn’t believe how good that felt! Her mind was racing. She threw the dagger aside, letting it skip and bounce across the marble. How had she earned her freedom? How had she done so now, in the seat of the Diva’s power?

Lifting her arms into a fighting stance, Margo winced and cried out as she felt a pain in her shoulder. Whimpering, she rubbed the shoulder and remembered the needle that “Mad” Maggie had driven into her shoulder. Margo’s eyes widened- she had thought that Maggie was thinking steroids when she’d proposed the chemical solution. Had she actually come up with some kind of anti-venom? In the few seconds of their fight, had “Mad” Maggie managed to save her after all?

Margo didn’t have much time to think on it. “Aaauuuhnn!” Margo cried out, as a shoulder like a wall of rock drove into her back, knocking the poor young woman to her knees. Margo cast a glance behind her to see a lumbering zombie, ready to defend its mistress. Stumbling back upright, Margo could see another zombie approaching her from the other side.

Margo could feel the sheen of sweat pouring off her body. Had that made it easier for her to sweat the zombie toxins out? Either way, as a zombie lunged forward and clutched her arm, it made it far easier for the crime fighter to twist and jerk her way out of his grip!

Not that it didn’t hurt, of course. Margo could feel a bruise form almost immediately on her arm, where the brute had squeezed her. Margo’s mind was racing. Free or not, it was only a matter of time before the zombies had her in their grip again. She had to think!

“Stop her!” Diva de los Muertos wailed, “Kill that little whore! Kill her for el Diablo, kill her for your mistress! Don’t let that slut leave here alive!”

“Not so sweet to your little Ghost now, are you?” Margo teased, looking around the room. She could see the dagger, lying on the floor. Her own cloak was holding her back, slowing her down, so Margo shrugged it off- leaving her clad in nothing but a scant bit of lingerie as three lumbering zombies shambled after her!

Still, the extra mobility proved worth it. Even exhausted with the heat, Margo was able to duck and dive out of their attempts to grapple her. While the flames of the brazier grew higher and higher, and the sweat across Margo’s body grew thicker and thicker, at least she kept herself safe. But for how long, she wondered …

Margo stopped, looking at the face of one of the zombies as it came baring down on her. Saw its chalky, death white face. “D-dammit,” Margo said, ducking low and thrusting both of her thick legs out to strike it in the belly. The beast doubled over, but its friends kept on her. One even managed to catch Margo with a heavy fist across her soft, vulnerable cheek!

“Aargh!” Margo cried out, as the punch sent her reeling. Margo’s body went limp, skipped across the marble tile as she went flailing toward the brazier. Chest heaving as she fought to breathe, Margo felt her body bounce and spasm in pain, there on the floor.

“That’s it, little Ghost,” the Diva taunted, “let it end, now. Just let it end …”

One of the chalky, wooden zombies loomed over Margo. Her body was writhing at his feet, while the young crime fighter struggled to make sense of things. This was it, she knew. The end. Or a possible end. Margo winced, as she saw the zombie gather himself.

“Finish her!” Diva de los Muertos cried out.

“NO!” Margo cried out, thrusting her legs up. The scantily-clad crime fighter locked her thick legs around the zombie’s neck, just as he lurched forward. Using his own momentum, Margo threw him backward and tossed the brute straight into the brazier!

Not balanced to that extra weight, the brazier went tumbling backward as the brute went into the pyre. The bonfire roared, as new material was introduced. The golden bowl rocked and rolled, then came crashing against the marble. Flames spewed forth from the brazier, lapping at the walls of the mansion, starting to catch along the rows of books and rich oak furnishings!

“W-what!? No!” the Diva screamed, watching her lair begin to catch flame. Margo, meanwhile, rolled back up to her feet. Looking over her shoulder, Margo was treated to a fearsome sight- the spilling flames caught the shroud, and the zombie that had held it, engulfing the both of them! The third zombie remained in place, the Diva unable to focus enough to command it.

“You bitch, you’ll die for this!” Diva de los Muertos lunged, diving toward the dagger on the floor. “I’ll gouge your eyes out for this! You don’t need to see, for what El Diablo has planned for you!”

Running on pure adrenaline, Margo managed to block the incoming stab with a quick flick of her wrist. With the zombie toxin finally burning out of her body, Margo was beginning to feel the pain of the long night come swelling back to her. Still, with the mansion quickly going up in flames, she had to fight!

Margo responded to the stab with a sharp elbow to the Diva’s face. The flames began to creep up the expansive book shelves. In mere moments, the entire mansion would be engulfed in fire.

“Diva,” Margo cried out, “we have to set out of here! These flames- they’re too hot!”

“Not as hot as where you’re going, little Ghost!” The Diva thrust down with the knife again, making Margo scream as a sharp line of red was drawn across her shoulder!

“Uuhn, damn,” Margo panted, clutching her shoulder. The Diva was beyond reason, if reasoning with her had been possible to begin with. There was only one way out of this. Leaning back, hand wrapped around her injured arm, Margo presented her ample chest as a target for the Diva’s hungry dagger.

When the Diva thrust for it, however, Margo swung back, then rolled forward. She managed to pull her chest out of the Diva’s cruel reach, then roll beneath her once she had over-extended. Escaping the swing, Margo rolled forward and returned to her cloak. Immediately, Margo was fumbling around the cloak in search of the next tool she would need. Just needed a few more seconds and she could find what she needed- if only the flames and the Diva would give her that chance!

Margo found it, finally- a grappling hook, a lightweight device she could aim at one of those high windows and let pull her to safety. If not, at least, for the cruel dagger that Diva de los Muertos was holding perilously over her, ready to thrust down straight for Margo’s pounding heart!

Just inches from piercing Margo’s soft flesh, the dagger stopped! “Q-que?” Diva de los Muertos grunted, her arm struggling to complete her death strike. Looking over her shoulder, the Diva saw the last of her zombie minions, clutching her arm. “No!” The Diva shouted, “Release me! Let me go, you useless brute!” The zombie didn’t budge, showing no concern as the flames crept closer and closer to himself and his one-time mistress. Were the flames burning the toxins out of him too, Margo wondered? Had the Diva’s failure made her dark benefactors turn on her? There was no time to dwell on these questions, unfortunately.

Margo thrust the grappling hook gun upward, and fired. In a quick burst of air, the hook was sent forward. It crashed through the window, before hooking around the frame. Margo could feel the taut line before she even retracted it.

“Come with me!” she shouted, pulling her cloak back around her. Diva de los Muertos only hissed, however, swiping at Margo with her fingertips while the zombie still held her fast. With no other option, Margo pushed the retract button, and let the motor in the device pull her up to the roof of the building. Up, away from the lapping flames that consumed every inch of the mansion interior. The flames that Margo watched Diva de los Muertos disappear into, consuming the aspiring Reina del Inframundo.

Eventually, firetrucks would fill the street. A long night was ahead of the brave firefighters and rescue workers that would quell the blaze, and contain the damage. Brave work that the Gossamer Ghost would not be around to see.


It was nearly dawn when the Gossamer Ghost returned to the penthouse quarters of the Justice Sorority. She stumbled into the house, pain and exhaustion getting the best of her. Still, Margo pushed forward, not letting herself stop moving until she could see her friends.

“K-Kimi? Layla? Maggie?” Margo called out, leaning heavily on the wall as she made her way to the stairwell. Upon reaching it, Margo looked down, fearing the worst.

Instead, she saw her friends in the process of cleaning up. Looking just as they had before, if not a bit more disheveled, the girls were busying themselves. Kimi had foregone brewing tea, and was now keeping the wine glasses full. The upturned sofa had been returned to its position, and the dust and blood that had been left on the floor had been cleaned up.

The girls looked disheveled. Maggie had some bandages wrapped around the rib she’d landed on, after being kicked across the room. Poor Layla had a thin layer of massage oil on her soft brown skin, where Margo had worked her over. All of them had disheveled hair, and exhausted looks on their faces. Looks that turned to shock, when Margo appeared on the top of the stairs. Appeared, looking much more vulnerable and hurting than before.

“Margo!” Layla gasped.

“She’s back!” Maggie said, downing another swig of Bailey’s.

“Margo …” Kimi said, walking over to the stairs, “You … you need to get yourself down here, girl!”

“Ye look like death!” Maggie said, “Like, not real death, but some kinda warmed over, kinda sexy death? Like, if those Discworld books had a Hot Chick Death, you’d be-”

“We’re glad you’re back, Margo,” Layla interrupted.

“You- you are back, right, Margo?” Kimi asked, biting her lip.

Margo sighed, and smiled. She sank into the staircase railing as she came down. “I’m back, girls, thanks!” Margo slid down the banister, barely keeping herself upright. Fortunately, she was greeting by the welcoming arms of three of her closest friends in the world! Margo was pulled hard into a group hug, one that she couldn’t escape. “I’m so sorry, all of you! So sorry!”

“We’re just glad to have you back,” Kimi said.

“So, you bled it out, didn’t you? Yer good now? Had an uncle that needed detox, like that!”

Margo nodded. She’d explain Maggie’s brilliant solution to the other girls later. Right now, she was just happy to be alive, and happy that her friends could enjoy being alive with her. Margo would end up recapping her adventure over the course of the wee hours of the morning, not sparing a single detail until most of the girls were merciful enough to head off for some much deserved sleep.

Margo finished off her last glass of wine alone. Alone, at least, until she was joined by Layla Sabri.

“So, is that really it?” Layla asked, sitting down next to Margo.

“I watched her go up in flames,” Margo told her. “Usually, that says somebody’s pretty much done, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Layla said, “I mean, it would be crazy to think otherwise, right?”

“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” Margo said.

“But, Sister Sanguine supposedly met her end in flames, did she not? And so did Lady Matlazihua, was long buried and gone, right?”

“Right …”

“So, it seems that fire does not have the best record for ending this, does it? If not this ‘Diva de los Muertos,’ then …”

“Then they can’t bury the legend …” Margo said, her entire body shuddering. Self-conscious, Layla offered some pleasant good nights, and went off to bed. Margo finished her wine, alone with her thoughts. Finally, as the sun was beginning to peer through the high buildings of downtown, Margo got up to head to bed. Letting her cloak shuffle off to the floor, Margo peeled off her sweat-soaked costume, threw it off to the corner of the room. Her ample chest heaved as she breathed one more sigh, then crawled into the bed.

Tired, sore, too tired to let the horrors of her first foray into the world of the occult weigh on her, Margo prepared to finally get some well-earned sleep. That day, Margo Fox slept the sleep of the dead.