The Swimsuit Contest
by Andrew Mason aka Dr. Amazing

This is a work of fiction.  Tombraider and Lara Croft are both trademark and copyright of EIDOS Interactive and Core design.  All other characters are copyright of the author.

            This story contains violent and sexual content and is suggested for mature readers (18 and over).
            Comments, complimentary or critical, can be addressed to: dramazin@alphalink.com.au

“It’s deadly,” replied the adventurer, moving closer to the subject of Crombie’s awe.

            The light that emanated from the altar rippled across its surface.  The stone was no longer solid, it was churning with life, a swirling, puissant force.  Lara imagined all the lives that had been shed upon its surface and began to wonder if what they were planning to do was wise.

            “I suspect the demon may have spoken the truth about lost souls,” she muttered.

            Crombie’s eyes were bright, with both fear and excitement.  “We have to destroy it, or we’ll be lost souls ourselves.”

            Lara nodded and began to unload gelignite from her pack.

            “Lara!” Crombie yelled.

            “What?”  She looked at him and was appalled to see his body spasming, his limbs twitching uncontrollably, his eyes wide in terror.

            “It’s... trying... to get back... into me,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

            “Hold on Crombie,” she said.  “Fight it!  I’ll only need a few moments to place the jelly.”

            “A few moments more than you have my dear,” said Crombie, and that deep, sardonic voice was chillingly familiar.

            He advanced on her but she was ready.  He aimed a fist at her stomach but she deflected the blow with a sweep of her left forearm then replied with an open hand jab to his nose.  He grunted in pain but came at her again.  She twisted away from him then, spinning on her left foot she kicked him in the side, sending him sprawling into the stone seats that surrounded the theatre.  He rose to his feet immediately, smiling viciously, unconcerned by the deep gash over his left eye.

            “Quite the fighter aren’t you, my dear?”

            “I’ve learned a few tricks,” she replied, sounding more confident than she felt.

            “I will enjoy using those tricks,” breathed Crombie.  “I will enjoy being you.”

            “It’s not going to happen.”

            “Maybe I can teach you a few tricks of my own.”

            He charged at her and she side-stepped, tripping him as he passed her.  He crashed into the stone steps again but seemed not to feel it.  He stood and turned, his insane smile fixed on his face.  He advanced on her more slowly, his arms raised into fists.

            “Yes, my dear,” he continued, as if their conversation had not been interrupted.  “When I rule that lovely body of yours I will make sure it receives all the attention it deserves.”

            Lara struggled to suppress the fear that grew inside her.  “What do you mean?”

            “You keep most men at a distance, but you could have any man in the world.  When I rule your body, we will have adventures unlike any you’ve had before, bedroom adventures.  You will get quite a reputation, my dear.”

            “No.”  The loss of control the demon described, the misuse of her body, was the stuff of nightmares.

            “Yes!”  He shot a punch at her and when she deflected it his other hand grabbed her arm.  His grip was strong and she could not shake him off.  His eyes gleamed in triumph.  With impossible strength he pulled her forward, disturbing her balance, then swung her around, throwing her at the altar.

            She flew through the air for a moment, steeling her body for impact, then landed with a thud on the glowing surface of the altar.  Her head crashed back against the stone and for a few moments she struggled to maintain consciousness.

            And those few moments were fatal.

            She felt something scratching at her ankles and looked down at them.  She was horrified to see two skeletal hands rise from inside the altar and grasp her ankles.  Scraps of flesh still hung from the bones and their touch was sickeningly cold, the cold of the grave.

            She reached down to free her feet but before she could there was a fierce tug on her plait and her head was dragged back to the altar.  Another hand emerged beside her neck and wrapped its nauseating grip around her throat.  She tore at the hand, her heart hammering in her chest as a full-blooded panic threatened to engulf her, but two more hands emerged to grasp her wrists, holding her arms down beside her head.

            She tugged at the hands that held her but did not shift them.  She arched her back and struggled with all the power in her athletic body but the grip of these ghoulish hands was stronger than human.  She could not free herself.

            And the hands continued to emerge.

            They scrambled over her body like spiders, tearing at her clothes, looking for purchase.  One hand grabbed her thigh, digging into her flesh.  Another wrapped itself around her stomach, tearing the fabric of her top as it clutched her.  One hand crawled around her side and seized the high mound of her left breast in a grip that made her cry out in pain.  Seconds later another hand had taken hold of her other breast, and she knew the despair of helplessness.

            “Crombie!” she yelled, her voice ragged with desperation.  “Call them off!”

            Crombie appeared at her side, his eyes wild with excitement.  “And why should I do that my dear?  They merely obey my wishes.  Now you are mine!”

            “No!”  She struggled and writhed in the torturous grip of the ghastly hands, but could not escape them.

            “Oh but you are my dear,” gloated Crombie.  “Mine forever.”

            Then Lara became aware of a new horror.  The ghostly hands were deathly cold, in contrast to the heat of the table, and they were drawing heat from her.  They were draining the life out of her!

            “Yes, dear Lara.  I can see from the horror on your lovely face that you realise what is happening.  Your life-force will be drained into the table, leaving a shell for me to occupy, a shell that will offer no resistance at all.”

            He leaned down over her, his eyes feasting on her helpless supine form.  “The Priest-King Manacha designed this altar, a great service to me, I had thought.  In the land you now call Peru he sacrificed hundreds of people to my glory and I was able to occupy their bodies immediately after their deaths, but there was the problem of the effort involved to keep those bodies functioning.  He devised ways to kill them slowly, by draining their blood, so it would be easier to maintain them, but the problem remained.  So he fashioned the altar you now lie upon, designed to drain life but do no physical harm.  So your magnificent body will be undamaged when I take up occupancy.”

            He touched the hands that held her breasts and they receded into the altar.  She took a quick breath of relief, then his own hands were upon her.  They were no kinder to her than the skeletal ones.

            “Oh, and you are magnificent,” he breathed, his voice husky, as his hands kneaded the flesh of her chest.

            She winced in pain but tried to keep him talking.  “But Manacha betrayed you,” she grunted, finding that even talking was becoming an effort.   “He sealed you in here.”

            “Still thinking my dear?  Even now?”  One hand left her breast to stroke her cheek.  If the hand at her throat had not prevented it she would have bitten him.

            “That glorious mind of yours, still working despite your death approaching.  It will be a pleasure to occupy that mind as well.”

            ‘Think Lara, think,’ she exhorted herself, though her vision was starting to swim.  ‘Use that glorious mind of yours, because your body can no longer save you.’

            “But how could he betray you?” she asked.  “You could have occupied him at any time to read his thoughts.”

            “He knew that I would not.  Have you seen the picture of him?  He was a horrible, deformed creature.  I would never want to be inside of  him.”

            That demonic grin reappeared on his face.  “You, on the other hand, are a different matter altogether.”

            He moved around to her feet.  She looked down, her head movement limited by the cadaverous hand that held her throat.  She could see him looking avidly at her legs, stretched out on the altar.  Even in the terror that now ruled her, she still felt a heightening fear at what she knew was coming.

            “What did your friend Chifley say?  A little wider, my dear.”

            The hands that held her thighs receded into the altar and the hands that held her ankles moved further apart, making her even more vulnerable.

            He stroked her thighs and she writhed in revulsion, struggling to free herself.  She tugged against the hands restraining her limbs but their grip was like steel.  She arched her back, but could barely raise herself off the altar.

            His hands progressed to her crotch.  He roughly stroked her most private areas.

            “Get your filthy hands off me!” she cried, fighting to hold back tears.  She had been in awkward situations before but this was, without doubt, the worst.

            “Now Lara, is that any way to speak to your new master?”

            “You can’t do this!  You must not!”

            “I’m afraid Crombie insists on it.  And since he will be a gibbering husk when I leave him, I feel I should give him this parting gift.”

            He stopped his intrusive fondling.  “I think we can dispense with those shorts now,” he muttered.

            More hands rose from the altar and began to tear at her shorts, ripping the fabric, shredding her protection.

            “This is madness!” she cried, her mind working desperately.  “You’re going to rape me, then... occupy me?  Why damage your future host?”

            “Oh, I’ll be gentle enough, my dear.”  His eyes were wild with excitement, as her shorts were torn to shreds, revealing her to him.  One skeletal hand hooked into the elastic of her panties.

            “You have no idea of rape then,” she argued.  “You will damage my body, but even more, you’ll destroy me, you’ll break the person you want to become.”

            She saw a look of confusion on his face.  It seemed that he had never even considered the harm he might do her.

            And in that moment of distraction she felt the grip of the skeletal hands weaken.

            She took her chance with all the strength that remained in her.  Her right leg jerked free of its captor and her foot smashed into his temple.  It should have been enough to kill, but Crombie was merely stunned.  He fell back and the remaining hands weakened further.  She jerked her limbs free and threw herself off the altar surface.

            She rolled on the ground then spun to face her opponent.  She was alarmed by the way her head swam.  The altar had taken too much from her, had left her drained of energy, depleted.  Her legs threatened to give way beneath her.  She could barely focus on her foe, though she could see enough to know that he was smiling.

            “Brave girl!” said Crombie.  “If I’d not seen you do it I’d have said such an escape was impossible!”

            She knew she could not hope to best him in combat.  She drew her gun and aimed it as well as her hazy vision allowed her to.

            “Still fighting, even when you know, in your heart, that you have lost.”

            His voice seemed to come from somewhere other than where she saw him.  Despite the lights, the theatre seemed terribly dark.

            ‘Don’t lose it Lara!’ she exhorted herself.  She was dangerously close to passing out.

            She held the gun in both hands, to keep it raised, but she was no longer sure where her foe stood.  She dropped to her knees.

            And then he was on her.  He grabbed her from behind, one hand closing on her hands, his other hand closing around her throat.  Her gun clattered to the floor and he pulled her close to him, her body like a lifeless puppet in his grip.

            “I applaud your valiant efforts, my dear,” he whispered in her ear, “but I grow impatient.”

            She could feel the source of his impatience pressing into her buttocks.  She struggled weakly, trying to gather strength for one last effort.

            “Still some fight left?  Good.  That will make this all the more entertaining.”

            He turned her to face the altar.  The hands were already out, clawing and clutching at the air, ready for her return to their evil embrace.

            “Your fate awaits, my dear,” he whispered in her ear while he pushed her forward.

            “Oh God,” she cried weakly.

            Then a gunshot rang out, echoing through the confines of the theatre.

            Lara and Crombie turned to the theatre entrance to see Chifley, aiming Lara’s second Magnum at them.

            “Let her go, you bastard!” he yelled, his voice shaking.

            “Gladly,” replied Crombie.  Held so close to him Lara could feel his body tense, preparing to push her onto the altar.

            She reached back over her shoulder, grabbing his neck.  His weight was already moving forward to push her and she rolled him over her hip, one of the earliest judo throws she had learned, and propelled him onto the altar.

            The eager hands clutched at him, seizing and holding him.  He cried out in rage and struggled against the trap he had himself prepared.

            Lara had dropped to her knees again, cursing herself for her weakness.  Chifley was by her side in moments.

            “Lara, are you...?”

            “We’ve got to get out!” she urged, grabbing her backpack from the theatre floor.

            He put his arm around her and lifted her to her feet.  With his support they were able to scramble up the stone steps to the entrance.  Crombie screamed in pain and outrage behind them.

            “The stone door,” said Lara when they had moved past the entrance.  She was relieved when Chifley understood what she meant.  He pulled furiously at the wooden brace holding up the door.  It proved to be as fragile as it had looked.

            The ancient stone door dropped, sliding back into its niche with a resounding thud, cutting off a last wailing cry from Crombie’s demon.

            “Thank God,” breathed Lara, feeling more exhausted than she could ever remember.

            “Are you all right?” asked Chifley.  “You look awful.”

            “Always the sweet talker, aren’t you Peter?”

            She looked down at herself.  Her shorts were in tatters but thankfully her panties had survived.  Her top, though largely intact, was ruined by stains she did not care to think too deeply about.

            “Hardly the cover model now, am I?” she joked.

            “What did he do?  What did he do to you?”  Chifley’s voice was anguished.

            “Not what you’re thinking,” she replied, “though not for want of trying.”

            She smiled at him, grateful for his concern.  She rose, uncertainly, to her feet, then moved into his arms.

            He stiffened in surprise for a moment, then returned her hug.

            “Thank you Peter,” she whispered in his ear.

            “My pleasure, ma’am,” he replied, in an awful attempt at John Wayne.  His body began to shake in her arms.  “Though I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.”

            She held onto his trembling body.  “But you came anyway.  Thank God you did.”

            They held each other for several minutes, drawing strength from each other.

            Chifley pulled back first.  “Ready to get back to the surface?”

            “I guess so.  We’ll need to blow the site up, but it can wait now.  That stone door held him for hundreds of years, it can hold him until tomorrow.”

            They began the slow ascent through the darkened tunnels.

            When they emerged from the site the others were alarmed by Lara’s dishevelled appearance.  The group retired to Chifley’s hut where Jason provided Lara with a bathrobe to cover her ragged clothing.  Cassie redressed her wounds.  Lara then told them a succinct version of what she had endured.  They were horrified to hear it but reassured that the danger was past.  No sympathy was given to Crombie, though Lara knew that the man who had died was not an evil man.  She had seen no way to save him, short of sacrificing herself.

            Jason proved to be a stalwart in the crisis, managing to provide a cup of tea for both Lara and Chifley.  They joked about him being a closet Englishman and he replied that he was not in the closet over anything.  He was chuffed, however, that his efforts were appreciated.

            Lorna, to Lara’s chagrin, was mentally damaged by the demon’s possession of her.  She was more aware of her circumstances than Maia, but she was visibly confused by almost everything that was said to her.  Lara vowed she would do all she could to get Lorna and Maia the best possible treatment.  For the time being Carla took the two confused, child-like women under her wing, taking them back to her hut for the night.

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