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Gary Splotter And The Mysterious Mystery part 7
Story by Nollvanex
Posted 8/5/16     810 views
VII. FIGHTING DIRTY

The morning sun streamed into Gary and Wrong's tower room; Gary's face eventually became so warm that he could no longer stand it and was forced to get up. He groaned with the effort and swung his feet off the bed, kicking several empty bottles of pumpkin "juice" out of the way.

"You're up early," Wrong said without looking up; he was fixated on a crystal ball in his lap and occasionally made an esoteric gesture in response to its flickering.

"I think I have Cribbage practice," Gary said, trying to remember where the night had gone. He was the Peeper for Stiffendor's team. "They can't win without me."

"Keep telling yourself that, mate." The ball flickered and vibrated more intensely.

"Well, at least it's more important than Magic Missile Command," Gary said, waving dismissively at the crystal ball.

"This is a very challenging game," Wrong said, "requiring surgical precision, lightning reflexes and a strategic mind." Gary had never played it, but he knew it was a lot like the video games his non-magical cousins had played before he moved to Hogwallow, except that in Magic Missile Command the player was defending a real city in a parallel dimension. Glancing over Wrong's shoulder, Gary could see that the city this time looked a lot like Birmingham: tiny phosphorescent meteors shot toward it, (mostly) blocked by Wrong's shields.

Gary went back to searching his belongings for his broom and Cribbage board when Slimus, another Stiffendor student, burst into their room.

"Hymenea is facing Venerea on the dueling grounds today!" he said excitedly.

"What, now?" Wrong looked up from his game. A section of the alternate Birmingham went up in flames.

"Yeah, come on!" Slimus exited to rouse the rest of the house.

Gary had raised his head to greet Slimus but had continued his search. Having found the board he muttered, "Now, where are the spilikins? . . ."

"Aren't you coming? This should be even better than the Bombardment finals!" Wrong cast the crystal ball aside, as millions of voices cried out in terror and then were suddenly silenced.

"Oh, I don't know, I still have to practice," Gary said half-heartedly.

"Are you still on about that? The whole school will be at the duel, you probably won't even have practice today. Why wouldn't you want to see the epic catfight of the year!? . . . I mean, we should be there to support our friend."

Eventually Gary was convinced and allowed himself to be hustled down to the dueling grounds. A large crowd of students was already present, representing all four of Hogwallow's houses: Stiffendor, Slipperin, Humpenmuff, and the other one. A pair of small tents were the only structures on the field, one at each end. Gary and Wrong headed to the one flying a banner in Stiffendor's colors: the staging area for Hymenea and her seconds.

+++

Hymenea paced back and forth, for once at a loss what to do. How had it come to this? Her feud with Venerea had been a distraction, and had led to some messy scenes, but Fifi's prank--which the French cat girl had tricked Hymenea into setting off--had taken things to another level. Now Fifi was gone, and Hymenea was left to pick up the pieces. She knew Venerea hated her guts, but she was still shocked when Bubastis delivered Venerea's challenge: a duel to settle the affair, once and for all.

The rustling of the tent's opening flap distracted her from her worries: with relief she saw it was Gary and Wrong. No one else had offered to stand by her--she didn't even have a second for the upcoming duel. Wrong expressed cool admiration for the tent's spacious and luxurious interior--far bigger on the inside than was apparent from the outside--but Gary came straight to her, only pulling himself short from embracing her at the last moment. Poor Gary, she thought, still uncomfortable around me!

"Er, is there anything we can do?" he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"You're all alone?" Wrong said, more pointedly.

"Just me," Hymenea said, her voice quavering. Suddenly, she couldn't keep it together anymore. She threw herself on a waiting couch as tears poured from her eyes. "Oh, what's the use?" she sobbed. "Venerea is a champion of the school. I can't even win a fight against Bubastis. It's hopeless!"

"There, there," Gary said, gingerly putting a hand on Hymenea's shoulder. Wrong sat down next to Hymenea on the couch and put an arm around her; he could tell she was upset, so he only groped her a little.

"There must be something we can do," Gary continued, withdrawing his hand as Wrong took over. Wrong was such a good friend.

"Listen, Hymenea," Wrong said, "you're the biggest witch in school!"

"Thanks, I think--"

Wrong shook his head. "I mean, get Venerea to fight on your terms, and there's no way you can lose."

"Oh," Hymenea said, getting herself under control and buttoning her blouse, "you two are so supportive. As the recipient of the challenge, I can choose the type of magic we duel with, but I've been absolutely stuck trying to think of a spell that Venerea wouldn't be able to counter." She gestured to the open spell books and scrolls that covered the low table in the center of the room. "Help me look--there must be something!"

Gary stroked his chin thoughtfully while Wrong flipped through the pages of the spell book in wonder: it had been so long since he had seen the inside of a book, he had forgotten that they sometimes hid smutty pictures. But most of the illustrations in Hymenea's books were technical diagrams or naked dudes, and neither held much interest for Wrong.

"I think I have an idea," Gary said.

+++

A ripple of excitement passed through the growing crowd as the flap of Hymenea's tent opened. Wrong Wienersley, with as much dignity as he could muster, marched straight toward Venerea's tent. He ignored the whispers and speculation from the spectators, but puffed his chest out and stood tall, hoping he might be able to pick up some groupies after the duel.

When he was a few yards away from Venerea's tent, the flap opened; to Wrong's surprise, Bubastis Phinx stepped out.

"You're Venerea's second?" he said nonchalantly. He wasn't that surprised, but he noticed a murmur of disapproval from the nearby spectators: it was highly irregular, and a little bit gauche, for a duelist to have a second from a different house, especially their opponent's.

"Has she decided?" Bubastis countered, ignoring Wrong's question as too obvious to warrant an answer. The olive-skinned girl wore the short robes approved for outdoor use, and Wrong openly ogled her bare legs. She snapped her fingers to bring his attention upward, but he only made it as far as her chest. In his defense, it was a lot closer to him than the rest of her body.

"Miss Gunger selects Summoning Spells," Wrong said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. In a lower voice, he said to Bubastis, "Say, maybe when this is over, you and I could--"

"Not a chance, freak," she said curtly, and in a moment she had reentered Venerea's tent to pass along Hymenea's choice.

+++

After another period of the two duelists hiding out in their respective tents to ready their arsenals, Hymenea and Venerea marched forward to meet in the middle. Both wore their short outdoor robes and calf-high boots. Wrong waited on one end of the field, Bubastis on the other, ready to assist them as needed. The obvious excitement of the crowd erupted in cheers, catcalls, and everything in between.

"Summoning Spells, hmm?" Venerea said snidely. "I hope you don't think anybody else will fight your battle for you. You've had this coming a long time." She twiddled with her wand thoughtfully, pointing it into her free hand as if she couldn't wait to use it. By contrast, Hymenea held hers stiffly at her side.

"I'm ready," Hymenea said. Her flushed cheeks left no doubt of the internal struggle she was waging to control herself.

"Just one more thing," Venerea said, lifting her wand. "No invisibility. You won't have Gary around to pop my tits out this time." She flicked the wand and a dome of blue light expanded over the dueling grounds. A number of naked people--mostly students, but a few faculty--were suddenly exposed where they stood around the field, and ran for cover. Gary wasn't among them.

Hymenea remained stoic: let Venerea think she had outsmarted her. "Very well. Let the best witch win."

"Oh, don't worry," Venerea sneered. "I plan to." She turned her back to Hymenea.

Hymenea rolled her eyes and mimicked Venerea's snotty attitude as she too turned away from her opponent. "Don't worry, I plan to," she repeated in a squeaky falsetto. What a clich

At last they were ready to begin.

Wrong and Bubastis counted the paces off as Hymenea and Venerea marched away from each other. ". . . Nineteen. Twenty. You may turn and cast when ready." The two girls began waving their wands and chanting the complex invocations that would summon allies to their causes: lights flashed ominously from either end of the field as doorways were opened to remote, elder dimensions and the chaotic strangeways that glid between worlds--

Venerea was finished first. Pop! A phalanx of house imps, hovering in midair, appeared a few yards in front of Hymenea, who was just putting the finishing touches on her own conjuration. The house imps had traded their domestic uniforms and drab coloration for fanciful military uniforms, and they had come loaded for bear, armed with enormous pies and pastries that were as big as they were.

"House imps!" Hymenea exclaimed as the last traces of her summoning spell disappeared into the ether, whence they would call forth the elemental forces she had tapped. No wonder they had come so quickly: the house imps wouldn't have had to travel far. "How did Venerea get you out of the castle!?"

The lead imp, wearing a bandolier filled with lairs, said, "It didn't take much to convince us, actually. ATTACK!" At the leader's command, the entire squad began unloading on Hymenea, hurling sticky, gooey pies and tarts at her, point blank. One of them flung raw eggs, rapid-fire, strafing her with slimy missiles that burst on contact. Splat! Splat! Splat! Splat!

She was forced to fall back under the barrage that blinded her and coated her front with custard and cream. Those imps threw hard! Using her wand to try and raise a wind that would blow them away from her, she was thankful that they hadn't brought a rib roast or an ice sculpture. She wiped her eyes just in time to see a pair of hovering imps dump a pot of cold soup over her head. Sploosh! She shrieked at how cold it was and at the incongruous combination of smells.

"Oh, tsk tsk," said the lead imp, "dessert before the soup? I'm afraid we're getting sloppy." It snapped its fingers and the other imps instantly rearmed with pies that suddenly appeared in their hands.

"You're getting sloppy!?" Hymenea spat through layers of dripping mess. The duel had hardly begun and Venerea had already succeeded in rendering her unrecognizable. Distantly, she could hear her nemesis cackling, her abrasive voice cutting through the otherwise homogeneous roar of the crowd.

"Don't let that get you down!" she heard Wrong call from the sideline. "That's it, just let her tire herself out!" Venerea didn't look too tired, Hymenea thought, but she already felt exhausted, weighed down by the sodden mess the imps had made of her clothes. I'll just have to adapt, she thought, shedding the heavy outer robe. Her blouse and culottes were in a little better shape; she determined to keep them that way, putting up a shield spell before the imps delivered their next volley of pies. They splattered harmlessly against the invisible wall she had put up, but she wouldn't be able to keep up such a force for the entire length of the duel.

Luckily, she wouldn't have to: the tendrils of energy she had released from her wand were reappearing, leading the forces she had summoned back into her own dimension. As lights flashed and a portentous tone like the deep bass of an organ sounded, the ground around Venerea tilted and buckled.

As Venerea struggled to keep her balance, several figures rose up from the quaking earth, human in shape but as brown and slick as wet clay. From a distance (and through the imps' barrage of slimy desserts), Hymenea watched with a mounting sense of resurgent confidence: she had successfully summoned a band of mud elementals! The elementals towered over her opponent, menacing her and dripping as they moved. Finally, Venerea would get a taste of Hymenea's vengeance! The crowd hummed with eagerness.

Cut off by the new arrivals on all sides, Venerea circled warily, her wand out. "Eww!" she said petulantly as a thick glob of mud dripped from one of them and dribbled down her sleeve. "This robe is a Donna Scaran!" She blasted the offender with a burst of light from her wand, sending chunks of earth flying and spraying nearby spectators with liquefied mud, clearing herself a path at the same time. "Oh! Ugh!" she complained as her heels caught in the pitted and uneven ground left by the elementals' emergence.

Venerea tripped over one of the divots and sprawled gracelessly on the wet ground with a curse. "Yuck!" she groaned, futilely wiping at the dirt stains on the front of her robe with both hands. "This will never come out!" She was so absorbed that she forgot about the other elementals until they were looming over her again, and this time they didn't wait for her to blast them with her wand: she only had time to look up and squeal wordlessly before they were on top of her, their half-liquid form pouring over her in a torrent. The few stains on her robe that she had complained about were buried as the whole thing, along with her face and hair, were coated in brown mud.

"Ha!" Hymenea exulted from the other end of the field. She had just finished wrapping up the last of the house imps in a magical ribbon, though at great cost to herself: her blouse and shorts were so smeared with pies and treacle that she had no choice but to remove them. To the delight of the watching audience--and especially Wrong--she stripped down to her bra and panties and wiped her face as best she could. Her hair was coated and dripped down her back, and a streak of custard down the center of her chest was a reminder of the trifle that one of the imps had managed to force down her cleavage. But as far as she could tell, the elementals had made short, overwhelming work of Venerea, and that meant Hymenea was winning, for now.

Hymenea's triumph was short-lived. Within moments, the quivering mound of mud under which Venerea was buried erupted: clods of earth and fountains of mucky water sprayed in all directions as the Slipperin warrior witch emerged, riding astride an enormous dragon! The crowd oohed and stepped back as she and her mount became airborne. Venerea had shed her mud-coated robe to reveal a clinging, equally mud-soaked satin slip; the uniform coating on her hair and skin gave her a wild, savage appearance, like something from the cover of a heavy metal album. In her eyes was a kind of madness--the madness of revenge. The great lizard soared aloft and dove straight toward Hymenea, urged on by its barbaric mistress.

Hymenea, nearly deafened by the crowd, at last heard Wrong's voice, urging her to jump, to run, to do something, but the sight of the dragon had almost paralyzed her. Who knew that Venerea had such tricks up her sleeve? Of course, she realized: the dragon was Slipperin's totem, and Venerea undoubtedly had help from within her house. How the underhanded Slipperins would love to see Hymenea, the proud Stiffendor, humbled and stripped of her dignity, groveling face-down in the muck! (The Slipperins could have just read the last six chapters of this story, but as a group they really weren't much for reading.)

In the split-second before Hymenea belatedly raised her wand to shield herself, she noticed the slimy yellow liquid secreted from beneath and between the dragon's green scales: the glistening wetness gave the beast an amphibious appearance, but more importantly provided the clue Hymenea needed to identify it.

"A custard dragon!" she exclaimed to herself as the dragon opened its maw in preparation for a mighty roar. She was too late: before she could finish a protective spell, the dragon spat a geyser of thick, creamy custard straight at her (and the crowd around her--nobody had warned this audience about Splash Zones!). It was like a fire hose; the force and weight of the custard bowled her over and filled her eyes, her mouth, her ears and nose. She was momentarily blinded, and even worse she had lost the grip on her wand as it was coated with the slimy stuff.

She wiped her eyes and unclogged her ears in time to see and hear Venerea raising her arms in triumph as the dragon circled, preparing to strike again. "Give up yet, Gunger? Or are you hungry for more?" She laughed at her own joke.

What could Hymenea do? She was trapped: there was nowhere she could run on the field that the dragon couldn't chase her, and without her wand she couldn't cast any more spells. She was so coated with messy slop that it weighed her down like a cloak, but she had so little clothing left she could remove, just down to her bra and panties. If only she had more time, she could play her last card by implementing Gary's idea! Where was Gary!?

Suddenly, she saw it: sitting on the ground just a few yards away, a perfect, uncracked egg, smooth and white, undoubtedly left from the house imps' artillery and miraculously unbroken. She scrambled for it, an idea to buy her some time forming in her head.

Quickly she undid the clasp on her bra and removed it, vaguely aware of the wolf whistles that came from the sidelines in response, mostly from Wrong. She plucked the egg from the ground and dropped it into one of the bra cups; as Venerea's dragon lunged for another attack, Hymenea swung the bra by the straps like a sling, releasing the egg perfectly. It struck Venerea square in the forehead with a squelching crunch.

Translucent yellow egg slime dribbled down Venerea's face. "Uggh!" she groaned, more out of exasperation than pain or embarrassment: both girls were so covered with mud and mess that even their housemates wouldn't have been able to tell them apart. "You just don't know when to quit, do you, Gunger?"

"You won't be so cocky when I'm done, Venerea," said Hymenea. "Not after I summon . . . Vandecamp!"

At the name, the crowd gasped. She had said aloud the name of He Whose Trademark Shall Not Be Infringed, the dark master of evil badness, the awful, terrible, no-good very bad wizard who was a boogeyman to wizard children and a dreaded memory for their parents (and whom Hymenea knew was actually lurking beneath the castle, somewhere in the corridors and chambers of Slipperin House). Even Venerea looked surprised at Hymenea's brass, but she recovered quickly. "You, summon him!?" she sneered. "You haven't got the guts, Gunger."

Despite Venerea's bravado, Hymenea knew she had her opponent worried: would she really do it? If Gary was ready, she thought their plan would work. "Just try me," she said. "I'm ready to face Vandecamp--are you?"

The crowd flinched again, and this time Venerea couldn't hide her disbelief and concern so easily; she circled the dragon uncertainly. Hymenea only had to say the name one more time to summon the dark one--maybe she was really crazy enough to do it.

Venerea hesitated a moment too long: "Do you hear me, Vandecamp!?" Hymenea roared. "I summon thee!"

A hush fell over the combatants and the crowd, now so quiet that the distant rumble could be heard when it still little more than a subtle vibration, a feeling of great forces moving deep below the earth. Soon it grew, however, and in no time it was loud enough for all to hear, and then it was deafening. The sky darkened; the ground cracked open; flashes of subterranean fire cast eerie shadows on the field as the light within the growing chasm grew brighter. Gary's really pouring it on, isn't he? Hymenea thought.

At last, a towering figure emerged from the hole in the ground: a giant disguised by armor and helmet, standing on a crag of rock that rose up; in his arms he wielded a twin-necked electric bass/guitar combo with VDECP painted on the body in heavy Gothic script. Beneath the armored giant, Moaning Martha, wearing a chainmail bikini, stretched lasciviously on the rock and wrapped her arms around the giant's leg as she stared rapturously up at her master. If Venerea's appearance riding the dragon had resembled a heavy metal album cover, this was like the front of a gatefold double LP on blood-red virgin 180-gram vinyl with a digital download code included.

The smell of brimstone lingered in the nostril; the fading sound of earthquake rang in the ear. Even knowing this was all part of her plan, Hymenea was taken aback. Had Gary overdone it? Would Venerea balk at this sheer overkill?

She needn't have worried: Venerea, shaken and visibly pale through her coating of mud, rushed to dismount from her dragon and threw herself prostrate to the ground. "Master," she intoned, "do not forsake Slipperin House. Why have you allowed yourself to be bound by this . . . this . . . Stiffendor!?" Even in her pathetic state, her hatred of Hymenea found expression.

Hymenea knew she had to make it convincing: having recovered her wand she strode forth and raised it, and said, "Lord Vandecamp, I have summoned thee, and by the terms of the binding spell I have earned the right to command thee: smite Venerea von Teton!"

The crowd gasped; Venerea looked stricken and lowered herself into the dirt even more; she was practically flat against the ground except for her backside. "No," she whined, "Master, I swear--I have been faithful to you! Look, I still wear your key!" She raised herself on her elbows to show the silver key she still wore around her neck, wiping the grime from it to show how it still gleamed.

Hymenea narrowed her eyes: she had seen the key Venerea wore before, but she had assumed it was simply a charm or keepsake. So it was connected to Vandecamp? Learning that would be a lucky addition to her victory, as long as she could stick the landing. "Hold, Vandecamp! I will spare Venerea on one condition." Gazing imperiously down from her superior position, Hymenea asked her rival, "Do you surrender?"

Venerea, utterly defeated, crumpled. "I surrender," she said softly. But the look of piercing hatred in her eyes told Hymenea that she wouldn't forget this . . . or forgive.

Hymenea turned to the giant figure. "I release thee," she said. "Begone, dark one."

The crag upon which Vandecamp stood began to descend back into the earth. Moaning Martha shot Hymenea a saucy wink while the dark lord played a wicked exit riff on his double-headed guitar. At the very last moment, as the split in the ground began to close up over the giant's helmeted head, he turned to Hymenea, and in a sepulchral voice said, low enough for only her to hear, "Your lips will yet caress Vandecamp's codpiece, Hymenea Gunger. You will join Martha in my harem before this affair has ended." A thrill of terror shot through Hymenea's breast; also, gross. She would have words with Gary for overdoing it.

Then Vandecamp was gone; the sky returned to normal, and the whispering crowd gradually awoke to the realization that Hymenea had won. Cheers broke out as Wrong came forward with a robe for Hymenea to cover herself, while Bubastis helped the shocked Venerea leave the field.

"Cor!" Wrong said, "that was amazing! I didn't know Gary had it in him," he said in a lower voice. It wouldn't do for the crowd--or Venerea--to realize that they had been tricked by an illusion.

"I didn't either," Hymenea said, half in shock herself. Gary had even inserted Moaning Martha into the illusion; how had he known?

+++

They returned to the spacious tent at the end of the field. "Those mud elementals were brilliant," Wrong gushed to Hymenea as they entered. "Did you see Venerea flat on the ground, Gary? Didn't you just want to spank her bum? I would've taken her for a thong kind of girl, but jockeys can be sexy too, eh, Gary? . . . Gary?"

But Gary wasn't in the tent. They heard a distant yelling and thumping. "It's coming from the conservatory!" Hymenea said. Following the muffled noises, they found the commotion coming from an armoire. When she opened it, inside was Gary Splotter! "Gary!" she said. "What are you doing in there?"

The boy wizard was wearing cardboard armor and a demonic fright mask was pulled up over his head. "I got stuck while I was changing into my costume," he said, "and there was no one who could hear me calling for help. I'm so sorry, I hope I didn't blow the duel for you."

Hymenea was stunned. After a pause she said, "No, you didn't. You were fabulous. I guess you were right where you were supposed to be." She kissed him lightly on the cheek, leaving a smeared and sticky print of her lips. "Thanks, boys. But I need to get cleaned up." As she retreated to the spa area of the tent, the truth of what she had summoned crashed in on her. If that was the real Vandecamp, then that was the real Moaning Martha . . . and all that stuff about his codpiece and harem was more than just Gary going off-script. She shuddered and realized her mission was bigger than just seducing Gary, and more urgent than ever.

Finally, there was the matter of the key Venerea had on her. Things just kept getting more and more complicated. What would be her next challenge?

TO BE CONTINUED . . .
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