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. Here, a
disembodied leg stomped endlessly on a bloody face. There, a man
in a military uniform snatched an infant from a lace-trimmed crib.
The soldier slammed the baby against a stone wall. A band of
ghouls rose out of the slime and performed a macabre dance on the
black surface. They sank back into the percolating liquid as a
tanged lizard wrapped itself around a screaming maiden. An
obscene altar flashed into view. A young man and a woman were
tied spread-eagled on a filth-strewn slab of stone. A dog-faced
priest with minotaur horns raised a dagger to pierce their hearts.
". . . JUMP!"
"... You belong here! You're like us!" This voice was low,
feminine, almost a motherly whisper.
". . . JUMP! JUMP!"
"... Everyone does it! You're no different," rasped a deep,
resonant voice.
". . . JUMP! JUMP! JUMP!"
"... Roll us over in the slime," sang a guttural chorus.
He wavered.
A part of his being, some ancient reptilian gene, urged him to leap
into the abyss and wallow in the slime. As part of the odorous
mass, he could act out any evil impulse. He could torture and kill
without re morse ... if only he would accept the pit as his home.
The voices knew of his secret hatreds and lusts, knew that William
Sweetwater sometimes dreamed of dark deeds.
With the last remnant of his will power, William teetered on
the edge of the abyss. He fought the dark urge.
Then, all of a sudden, the rolling mass stopped bubbling
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