The Exchange 2: Labyrinthine Lights

All the stars are out tonight, with not a single cloud to hide behind.  The pale orb of the moon is dark, allowing the stars to shine all the more brightly.  The nighttime sky is a black velvet blanket, the stars twinkling like diamonds without the competition of city lights.  

It’s late, later than I usually stay up.  The thought of my bed all cozy-warm with blanket’s and Aunt Tizra’s hand-stitched quilt, makes me shiver.  A breeze in the cold mountain air is doing a good job keeping me awake, but I find myself nodding off at times.  I rub my knitted-gloved fingers together for extra warmth.

“How much longer, Dad?” My brother’s question, which border’s whining, is immediately followed by his sneeze.  
I told him a coat would be better than a jacket, but did he listen to me? No. Stubborn boys and their silly need to look ‘tough’.

“Just a few more minutes, son.  Be patient.” Dad has the car’s convertible top down so we can view the stay-filled night sky without obstruction, a pair of binoculars are against his chocolate-colored eyes while its strap draping around his neck like a necklace.
Refusing to poutily sulk Elk chooses the angry option instead.  He severely thumps back into the cushioned seat, crosses his arms and glares up.

I too turn green eyes up towards the sky, and gasp as suddenly, a bright flare of blue and silver sparks against the inky backdrop, streaking bright colors across the heavens.  “It’s starting!” My voice is breathless with awe.

Another meteor, smaller than the first, shot by next to its predecessor’s fading tail.  It briefly lights up the darkened sky and the earth below.  It illumination is bright enough, that when I glance down I catch my twin’s dumbfounded look and my father’s contented smile.  To see his usually serious face so gentle… This is a special moment, I can’t forget.

Unlooping the binoculars from around his neck, Dad hands it to Elk who takes the linked pair of small telescopes with an eagerness which he had lacked earlier.  He catches me watch and leans over to whisper. “Was it worth the wait, my Jubilee?”
I nod, and the sky suddenly explodes with countless streaming meteors, trailing cold fire behind them.  In this moment night becomes day.

I stare up enraptured by this natural wonder.  The meteor shower has to be one of the most beautiful things I’ve experienced during my short lifetime.  Like the beauty found in newly budding flowers, the sound of raindrops on the roof, warm comforting hugs, and carefree smiles.  
I will not forget how the light is beautiful.

It’s time to forget about the past
To wash away what happened last
Hide behind an empty face
Don’t ask too much, just say
Cause this is just a game
“A Beautiful Lie” by 30 Seconds to Mars

Opening my hand I examine the six-inch, purple-hued– _{well he’s not a fairy, no wings but a tail instead} –boy.  A collection of miniature beaded necklaces adorns his neck, while the only scrap of clothing seems to be a loincloth.  The little guy still isn’t moving, even when I gently nudge him.
Wait he’s not– He can’t be–  “…dead?” My voice sounds weak as a knot settles in my throat.

“He’s not dead, only playing.” Death imperturbably answers my question.

I glance at him, confusion crinkling my brow.  “Playing dead, like a ‘possum? Are you sure?” As the words roll off my tongue I know the question’s stupid.

“Hm…” However Death ignores my inane query, instead hming thoughtfully while considering the tiny critter in my hand. “That Imp doesn’t belong in my city, hand it over and I’ll dispose of him.”

One of his hands leaves the steering wheel; its reach encroaching upon my personal bubble.
“No, wait!” I hurriedly shout, “I’ll take this little guy with me!”

A corner of Death’s mouth kicks up at my words. “You want to take a being of the Underworld with you into my Labyrinth.” He pauses to let the full meaning of his words sink in. “Really?”

Looking down…  He’s looks so minuscule and helpless, couldn’t hurt to have another with me during this tournament.  Besides I’m sure it’s a better option than handing the little guy over to Death.  “Yes.  After all I could have brought two others right?”

Death’s hand retracts back to once again rest on the steering wheel.  “If that’s what you want.” The other side of his mouth kicks up to form a full-fledged smile.  “This should be interesting…”

Trying not to be disturbed by Death’s open amusement, my eyes fall back onto the creature- _{what did Death called him, again?} -lying against my palm.  So this is an Underworld native?  I wonder what other unusual colors they come in…  Unable to stave off my curiosity I gently run the pad of my pointer finger down his tiny chest and abdomen.  That dusky-purple skin has a pebbly texture, rough and inhuman.  Lightly biting my lip to stave off a smile, I barely brush his tousled pale red-tipped hair and find it’s soft as thistledown.  When my finger tip touches his tail it twitches reflexively–
A pair of crimson, slit-pupiled eyes snap open.  I recoil slightly as the Imp abruptly sits up on my open palm.

“Y-you scared me, little guy!”  I pointedly ignore Death’s chuckle.
The Underworlder’s long pointed ears tweak and he blinks up at me, but otherwise doesn’t respond.  “I’m glad you’re okay though.  Just playing dead like a ‘possum, huh?”

He babbles in a thin reedy voice, quickly opening and shutting his– _blue!? –mouth.  Well it’s not like I should expect English to be the official language of the Underworld.  The way his tail lashes while he gestures animatedly is exceptionally cute.  
I feel a smile curve my lips. “No need to thank me!  I’m lucky to have met a purple cutie like yourself.”

Impulsively I raise my finger to brush his oh-so-soft hair once more–  He suddenly launches off of my open palm and latches onto my other hand mid-reach.
An undignified yelp escapes me when a set of small yet sharp teeth pierces the skin of my finger.  When I feel a sucking pressure on the wound, I shake that little blood-sucker off!  He lands against the dashboard like a cat on all fours, his tail still lashing.

“Ouch!  Why’d you bite me?!” I don’t panic seeing that the injury isn’t gushing blood.

Death chuckles, “Reconsidering?”

I send an irate glare his way from the corner of my eyes, but don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer.  Instead I redirect my glare back at the purple creature.  “I thought you were a ‘possum, not a leech…” My tone sounds more petulant than angry.

“Well, my tongue had to taste your blood before I could translate my words for your ears.” He speaks in a slightly guttural accent, using complex vowels where simple ones would do.

Rearing back, I stare shocked.  My mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, jaw working until words finally sputter out. “Y-you can TALK!!!”

An affronted expression twists his lavender lips into an adorable pout as he rises to stand on two legs.  “What do you think I am? A gremlin?”

Shutting my hanging jaw, I lean as close as the seat belt allows me to establish better eye-contact.  “I don’t know.  What ARE you?”

“You really can’t tell?” He looks doubtful but his tail no longer lashes back and forth.

Eagerly shaking my head, I can feel excitement bubbling up inside me at this unreal experience.  “I’ve never come down to the Underworld before, only read about it in books.”

He snorts, “Obviously.”  Then his face becomes completely devoid of expression as he stares at me unblinking with those red cat-eyes.

This devolves into a sort of staring contest, with what would be an awkward silence but for the jazzy radio music and the steady rumble of the pickup’s engine.  Finally I blink, both figuratively and literally.  “Will you tell me what you are, please?  I’d like to know exactly what it is I saved from that… that–”

“Ogre.” He supplies.  _{“Wait, it wasn’t a Cyclops?”  “No.”}   His twitching tail beats a tattoo against the dashboard.  “A hulking brutish being but not terribly bright,” a playful grin reveals a set of sharp teeth.  “You were lucky–”

“Fawn!” I interrupt, “My name is Fawn.”  I wait with baited breath for his reply, yet he only quirks a pale brow so my eager expression falls.

He snickers before bowing theatrically.  “You have this Imp’s thanks, fair maid.  Though some would question your sanity, such aid was a daring feat.”  

So he is an Imp, Death wasn’t just calling him that cause he’s impish.  “You’re welcome, um…” I trail off purposely that the Imp might supply his name.

“What business have you in the Underworld, Fawn?” That wasn’t the response I was expecting.

“Oh! Er…” Can I tell him? Is that allowed? Or will Death get mad at me for informing people about his tournament that he didn’t expressly invite?

“Fawn here will be participating in my tournament.” Death answers without taking his eyes off the road.  I guess he got tired of the A B conversation. “And she’s decided to bring you along.”  Okay, that was a low blow.  I simply give a sheepish smile when the Imp turns questioning eyes to me.  “It’s being held within the Labyrinth just up ahead.”

At this statement I turn and I gaze through the windshield.  I am shocked and somewhat dismayed by the sheer enormity of the place.  Up ahead a dark solid wall, sheer and high as the Cliffs of Insanity, spans the horizon… I hope it’s just our perspective or a trick of the light or something.  They couldn’t build something that big, could they?

“What are you fighting for?” A thin reedy voice draws my eyes back down to the occupant on the dashboard.

My eyebrows scrunch with confusion. “Pardon?”

“There is a prize, correct?” His expression remains neutral however, which is better than I had expected. “What convinced you to descend to the Underworld with a Death God?”

“I’m giving you the chance to bring Quinn Immelt back from the dead.”  Death’s words ring hollowly in the corridors of my mind.  Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat, I distract myself by focusing on brushing my sweat-crusted bangs from my forehead.  “I’m fighting for a chance to make things right.” Since when did my voice sound so glum?

“An exchange then?” His words are whispered so quietly I almost miss them.  I catch his eyes with my own and he perceives my curious confusion.  He does not speak but instead mouths the words ‘an opportunity to return to the world above’ as a fang-filled grin decorates his previously blank face and his tail quivers.
I blink slowly feeling stupid, I thought I was here to win a soul.

Suddenly the darkness is like a blanket and I look up to find the vast plateau-like wall right before us.  The truck’s speed hasn’t slowed in the least.  WE’RE GOING TO CRASH!
Before I can even finish inhaling for a proper scream; Death’s pickup punches straight through the concrete and steel of the great wall as if it was actually a Styrofoam prop.  There is a sudden jerk pulling the seatbelt taunt against my ribcage, and the Imp drops to all fours digging in his claws, making marks in the plastic as momentum drags him back.  A creaky halt finally jumpstarts my brain into working order once more.  Through the settling dust I notice that there isn’t a scratch from the impact and I’m stunned to silence.  It must be magic; otherwise this is the Land of Unreason.  

“We’ve arrived.” Death’s deadpan kinda kills the height of the moment.  

But I can’t let that put a damper on things.  While smiling at the Imp, I square my shoulders in preparation.  “C’mon, little guy!” I put enough pep into the assertion to punch out a rhino.  “We’ve got a tournament to win!!!”  

Then, because my mortification quota of the day hasn’t quite been reached, I find myself incapable of making a quick exit in to follow my passionate declaration: the seatbelt is stuck.  “Aw crud,” I mutter, painfully aware of the truck driver’s shadowed gaze.  
This has to be some kind of sick cosmic joke, I decide struggling in vain to free myself.  The classic ‘junk-bucket’ problem has trapped me in the old pickup I had once admired so fondly.  Even the radio is silent, providing the awkward silence that had been lacking earlier.  

A low, scornful snicker comes from the dashboard while a quiet chuckle drifts over from the driver’s side, and I feel my ears heat up, partially from anger but mostly from embarrassment.  I snap, perhaps a bit crankily, “Your car sucks!”

“No,” Death calmly replies, “You just broke my seatbelt.”

“I did not!” I indignantly declare.  Then after a few seconds more of battling with the stubborn belt-buckle, I mumble under my breath, “I hope…”  
Finally after a minute or so of fighting against the fickle finger of fate, I push a few rebellious curls away from my face and let out a shaky breath. “Could I get a little help here, please?”

Death reveals perfectly straight white teeth in a full-fledged conceited grin– I bet he didn’t need braces –and I can’t deny how good-looking it makes him.  Wait, finding an incarnation of death attractive MUST be a bad sign.  I’m not becoming suicidal, am I?

“Hey!” I bite out, my nerves frazzling. “Are you going to help liberate me from your junk-bucket, or is this seatbelt going to have a rather violent meeting with my keychain scissors?!”    

Suddenly a feather-light weight lands upon my jean-clad knee.  I look down, away from Death’s grinning visage to find the Imp.  “Allow me,” his offer is almost gallant so I nod.

Wasting no time he quickly climbs up and over to the nefarious seatbelt buckle, then settles back onto his haunches.  My fancy is tickled watching crimson eyes study my unwitting captor as if it’s a puzzle.  Only the very tip of his tail twitches while he works to get me free.  Who thought someone from the Underworld would be so helpful?
Suddenly he presses the buckle-button with one hand, pushing up against the buckle-latch with the other, and the seatbelt pops open with a satisfying click.  

“You can get out now.” The strength of his mirth shakes Death’s shoulders, amusement evident even in his even-keel voice.

I am struck with the urge to give Death the stink eye, but settle for making my less-than-grand exit of his rusty-green truck.  My feet hit the rubble-strewn cement floor and I take in my new surroundings.  It’s dark and dank and smells of spoiled things, but at the air isn’t thick with smoke.  The lighting reminds me of a highway tunnel craved through a mountain, the fluorescent lights spaced at regular intervals halfway up the wall leaving large patches of dark shadow in-between.
I jump slightly when the Imp hops abruptly onto my shoulder.  But I quickly smile his way; glad my shanghaied companion isn’t a reluctant one.

Shutting the passenger side door, I hastily put as much space as I can between myself and the 1980s green Chevrolet.  As soon as the door is close Death backs out of the hole he punched through the Wall of Ridiculous Height.  Once the pickup is safely on the other side, I watch in awe as the chunks of reinforced cement float off of the ground and through the air then place themselves together in the hole like pieces of an enchanted jigsaw puzzle.  Dust rose to fill the fractures and soon not a crack was left, the wall now smooth and undamaged.
Yep, definitely magic afoot.

A sudden pained hiss right beside my ear makes my heart skip a beat.  I sharply turn my head to find the Imp curled in on himself, his tail winding tightly into the black-faded-to-gray fabric of my jacket, his back covered by a blue liquid.  It almost looks like he’s bleeding blue.  “Are-are you alright?”

He doesn’t answer instead expelling another injured hiss, before straightening up and rolling his shoulders with a wince.  “This place truly is a maze of the worst sort…” His words lack the hurt which had filled his previous feline hisses.   Gleaming red eyes give me an appraising look.  “You hardly seem fit to navigate a Labyrinth of any danger level.”

My spine stiffens defiantly at his statement, but I know it to be true.  I don’t have a clue on what to do next, and would hardly be the popular choice on a fighting video game’s roster.  My chances at success are undoubtedly infinitesimal.  Good going, Fawn, get yourself trapped in the Underworld!  Why didn’t I let myself think this situation all the way through?  With a frustrated groan I bury my face in my hands.
The Imp has the nerve to chuckle at my misery, so I spread my fingers to communicate my displeasure via daggers from my eyes.

He only curls his lavender lips in a smile that daringly boarders a smirk. “Might I entice you into an exchange of sorts?”

My glare loses much of its venom as confusion sets in.  ‘An exchange’, didn’t he whispered those words to me in Death’s truck?  What exactly does that phrase mean in the Underworld?  
I sift my feet, the sound of tennis shoe soles scrapping on pavement echoed eerily.  I can’t stand this sterile silence so I ask. “...what?”

The constant buzz from the fluorescent light is broken by one to my right that flashes now and again, like a blinking light bulb.  It’s strange to feel his tiny hands on my shoulder as he leans back.  “The nature of a maze is not to keep things out, but trap things inside.  I doubt Death’s contraption is very different.”

Trapped?  Glancing this way at that I can find no doors leading outside to the City of Nothing, the walls that rose up and out of sight lacked windows, there’s no exits of any kind.  Before us a ways away I spy a stairwell leading down into the shadow.  The very thought of descending those stairs made my skin crawl but it seems to be the only way.  Death really did trap us in here…  “Isn’t there some way out?” I ask, fighting off a shiver of dread.

The downy-haired head rolls back lazily, as if he is considering the non-visible ceiling. He takes a deep breath, but I’m fairly certain that the Imp is simply pausing to make sure he has my undivided attention.  “As a symbol the Labyrinth is often used to represent a lifetime, the path being the life a being leads.  The end is at the center.”

I try not to go boneless with relief.  “So to get out we’ll need to find the center?  That makes sense-”

“It’s not so simple.” His voice is as hard and sharp as a knife, and easily slices through my own.  “This Labyrinth Death built for a specific purpose.”

I catch on to what he’s dropping hints at. “For the tournament…” Didn’t Death say something about that?  “If you win my tournament that is.”    
At that realization I went numb. I feel empty, washed out, like I’ve been plunged clean of my insides and filled up with some kind of packing foam.  I could only leave if I won?  Losing means my family… I may never see my family again! Or anyone else I care about!

“As I have said, my desire is that we enter into an exchange.” The possibilities behind his words act like a life preserver, keeping my head above the stormy waters of panic.  Once my hands fall from my face, the Imp cocks his head to the side and continues.  “If you agree to my conditions I will act as your personal guide through this Labyrinth.”

“R-really?!” I really shouldn’t let myself sound THAT DESPERATE, but at the moment I can’t deny the desperation flooding my mind.  Getting a hold of myself, shaky as it may be, I decide to not leap blindly into any sort of deal with an Underworld native.  “What are your conditions?”  I wince, however, at my overeager tone.

The Imp straightens up until he’s sitting properly and begins counting off on his tiny violet-lavender fingers. “First, never forget I am an inhabitant of this world.”  With that skin color, won’t be a problem.  “My directions are not to be inanely questioned; I will tolerate curiosity but not stupidity.” His expression is deadly serious, so I just nod.

He smiles sharply. “Second, this will not be an impersonal business arrangement.  If I am to serve as your guide, Fawn, you will be Bound as my Host.”

At that statement my back goes ramrod straight. “W-what?!  Sorry, but demon possession isn’t–”

A jump at the sudden low growl, effectively shut up.  “I may be a demonic subspecies, but this would be a symbiotic relationship.” He snorts indignantly, nose high in the air. “Why would I posses your body, when I have my own physical vessel?”

My stiff muscles relax and a sheepish smile creeps onto my lips.  “Oh, sorry… I jumped to conclusions.  What exactly do you mean I’ll be ‘bound’?”

His nose lowers to a more reasonable altitude and he clucks his tongue before answering. “By Binding our life-force, I shall know your needs and be able to meet them accordingly.”

That isn’t the answer I was expecting. “What about you? I mean…”  I don’t finish the statement, not wanting to offend the Imp.  But as everyone knows, free is just a gimmick.

He watches me a moment with half-mast eyes, no doubt enjoying how I squirm under his scrutiny. “Naturally I benefit.  With a Host I shall have access to superfluous energy, thus enabling my development into the final stage of maturation.”

Unnecessary big words aside, I smile at the thought.  “So I’ll help you grow up!”  He did look young; I wonder what he’ll look like grown?

The Imp smiles indulgently. “In a way…”

Well that doesn’t sound so bad.  “Anything else?”

He suddenly looks hesitant, “Perhaps…” I nod encouragingly.  “Since it will be you receiving Death’s prize, I would like a reward of my own.”  Aw, he’s so cute all tentative and nervous.

“Yeah, of course!  That’s only fair.” Can’t expect him to work for nothing.  I stick a hand to riffle around in my bookbag.  “I have a little money, but I don’t think that’ll be worth anything down here. Um…”

My jacket loosens as his tail winds out from the fabric.  The Imp’s hand, complete with tiny claws, abruptly brushes against my cheek.  “Don’t worry your pretty head about my last condition.  I’ll only collect when my duty as your guide has ended.”

I try not to giggle at the ticklish feel of his tiny claws.  “That’s very considerate of you!”

“I know.” His breath is strangely warm for such a small creature. “Do you agree to my conditions?”

It’s not like I’d get very far on my own.  Couldn’t hurt my chances… “Yes, I accept.”

“Excellent choice.”  He practically purrs, but then barks, “Lift me to your forehead.”
Bemused I raise up an open hand, which the Imp promptly hops onto, and do as he asks – no orders.  When he places his hands on my skin I have to lightly bit my lip so as not to laugh because of the ticklish sensation of his tiny claws.  “Now open your mind that I may see inside.”  He’s resting against mine; I can feel the downy softness of his hair.  

How does one go about ‘opening their mind’? Is there an established social norm for your reaction?  Are there guidelines on what to do next?  Not knowing the answer to any of these questions, I simply allow my mind to go blank.  
The Imp’s small frame reverberates with his growl.  “If I am to know your needs you can’t close yourself off, Fawn.  Don’t worry for my ability only allows me to view, your thoughts will remain untouched.”

He mistakes my inexperience as rejection.  Fidgeting I admit.  “I’m n-not sure how.”

The Imp’s little clawed toes flex against my palm.  “Envision the glass of a windowpane.”
Closing my eyes for better focus, I picture the window of Mamó’s cottage.  The one I used to sit beside in my younger years to watch the bees visit the bright chrysanthemum blossoms in the flowerbox.
“Visualize your thoughts filtering through the glass.” It’s funny how his tones can be dulcet with such a thin, reedy voice.
Taking a slow, deep breath I concentrate.  Sunlight always filtered though that window, warming me where I sat.  It was my favorite spot in Mamó’s cottage, even more so than the kitchen with all of its wonderful smells.  These memories and pleasant thoughts warm me from the inside…  Such a nice sensation… like floating in a bath of tea.  I would be content to stay like this–

“Ye-ouch!” I yelp when a stinging jolt, like a strong burst of static, sparks between our foreheads.  Instinctually, I tip my head back from the pain.  My free hand rubs the slightly numb area of my forehead as I apologize. “Sorry! It’s a reflex–”

“No need for apologies.” The Imp interrupts; tapping a glowing copper-colored mark on his forehead I could have sworn wasn’t there before.  “My third eye may now view your wants.” His hands are retracted and he backs up a bit.  “Grant me permission to heal your wounds and the Binding will set.”

“Heal my wounds?” My free hand trails down my face, the fingers brushing against the semi-clotted blood from the gash on my cheek.  I lower my other hand until the Imp is level to the cut.  “You don’t need to ask!  Heal me any time.”

A giggle escapes me as his clawed hands brush away the some dried blood.  His touch is careful and considerate, so even as the clots peel off my skin it doesn’t hurt.  However my giggles disappear with a sharp intake of breath when I feel a warm, wet tongue against the cut.  Apart from the stinging pain of nerves being touched, it’s a bizarre sensation to have something slippery against my blood-slick injury.  Forcing myself to remain still, I can’t help but wonder: isn’t this unhygienic?  
The Imp licks the entire length of my sliced flesh before he backs away from my face.  While my eyes watch him lick his chops with a blue tongue, my unoccupied hand brushes the slimy saliva away.  I pause mid-motion feel the area, the cut’s gone without even a scar!  The nerve endings tingle but amazingly my cheek’s healed completely!

“The Binding has set.” He murmurs before proceeding to lick my red blood from his violet-lavender fingers.

“So…  I’m your host now?” He nods, and I spy more glowing-copper markings scattered over his small body.  I allow a grin to flash down him.  “Then should we–”

A bass level roar shakes the air, echoing throughout the cavernous tunnel.  Bulldozing down towards us with the speed and power of a freight train is a Minotaur.  A FREAKING MINOTAUR!  The spaced lights bring its enormous cow-hide body in and out of shadow, the breath from its flared nostrils steaming, the artificial illumination glinting off wickedly curved horns.  Hypersonic plague yellow eyes are locked onto our current position, steely hooves digging into the cement with every step.

I would wail against the injustice of it all; a Minotaur of all things!? However, there are more important matters at hand.  I try to bolt out of its path, but a muscle cramp induced from standing in one place for too long hinders my efforts.  Unfortunately this is no time to stop and stretch.  Gritting my teeth I force my legs to work, hobbling as fast as I can towards the stair well I had spied earlier.  

“What are you doing?” The Imp asks bored, from the confines of my protectively fisted hand.

“Running away!  What’s it look like?” I hiss through my teeth.

The Imp sighs dramatically.  “At this rate, that stinking beast will trample you into the floor, Fawn.”

“Got a better idea?!” I snap belligerently, keenly aware of how the ground is starting to quake with the steps of the ever approaching monster.

He smiles sharply. “Yes.”  I’m astounded how effortlessly the Imp pries open my fingers.  The little guy is much stronger than he looks!  “Run and slip through that door ahead.  Allow me to me to handle this, my Host.”  He spring boards from my hand onto my shoulder, then leaps at the charging hulk of a Minotaur.
Turning my head with an alarmed cry, I watch over my shoulder as the surreal battle begins to unfold.

The Minotaur raises its meaty thick-fingered hands to snatch the Imp out of the air.  Just centimeters away from its grasp a blinding flash of fire engulfs his tiny purple body.  The blaze burns the beast’s hide and it bellows, drawing its hands back but lowering its long-horned bull head.  A violet blur darts out from the smoke cloud, narrowly avoiding being gored by the Minotaur.  Instead zipping between its horns and using its wide skull as a platform to flip away.  
The sudden impact causes the Minotaur to lose its footing, its massive body smashing into the wall with a foundation shaking collision.  The lights flicker accordingly and I catch onto the stairwell railing when my feet lose track of the floor in the sudden darkness.

My conscience won’t let me simply abandon the Imp without a second thought, so I stop and turn to look back.  Feral red eyes gleam out of the concealing smoke and concrete dust, a much larger size than before.  “Run, Fawn! Hide yourself!” An unfamiliarly deep voice orders, as the Minotaur begins to right itself.
“Once this beast has been dealt with, I will seek you out. Go!”  A flash of movement is followed by an ungodly shriek as gory pieces of the Minotaur slosh to the floor.  When the chunks-o-minotaur make impact, blood begins to flood the gray cement in a sickening tide.

I choke on the rising bile at the sight of so much blood; the urge to get away from the distinct metallic scent is enough to override my scruples.  Hands sliding down the railing to make of for my lack of sight in the dark, I hastily descend the stairwell.  Two different roars echo behind me, along with the gritty sound of crumbling cement.  Ungracefully crashing into some kind of barrier, I anxiously run my hands over the impediment and quickly realize it’s a doorway.  How can the sound of bones cracking be that loud?!  I send a prayer of thanks to God when my shaking hands locate the doorknob.  The door is heavy, maybe the hinges are rusted, but I force it open enough to squeeze through.

The door slams behind with severe finality.  My ears are assaulted as my optic nerves nearly overload at the scene I’ve stumbled onto.  

The music’s hard and fast, deafening, the air thick with machine-made fog and sweat and snatches of flavored dust that causes me to lick my lips.  The press of people is heavy, constantly moving, pulsing like one giant heartbeat, neon lights skimming over the crowd in streaks of blinding strobe.
My eyes dart across innumerable faces, resting on nobody and everybody at the same time.  There are so MANY people… are they all contestants?

I can feel the beats of the music under my fingertips which are placed against the door, making every fiber of my body swing and my heart forget completely about its actual rhythm.  The vibrating air around me is stuffy, used by too many people and dripping heavy with warmth like a soaked piece of clothing.  
The temperature makes me pick at my jacket which clings to my skin with one hand, while fanning my heated face with the other one.  If there’s an air conditioning or ventilation system, it isn’t able to fight the constant warmth of ninety-eight degrees Fahrenheit that’s radiated by over a hundred human bodies.

The crowding mass of people is moving– dancing? –close together; indigo and white light flickering over the expanse of moving bodies.  I’m sweating although my only current physical activity is breathing and I try not to image what it will be like to wade my way through the swarm.  

I look over to the side and find a buff man huddled up against this outermost wall, almost as if he’s trying to get as far away from the electronics as possible.  The man’s face is hidden behind a mask and wraparound sunglasses, along with his overall ragtag bulky clothes.  His shock blonde hair flashes yellow, or was it just the lights?  

Suddenly there’s an audible thump behind me and I feel the door shudder beneath my hand.  Glancing back I find the door firmly shut, but on the floor– a thick red liquid is seeping under the door.  Blood.
Leaping away from the quickly pooling blood, I experience a full body shudder.  Maybe I shouldn’t stay by the door after all.  Gathering up my courage I delve into the teeming masses.  

Most people seem to be enchanted by the spell that the music casts over them and probably don’t even notice me.  They’re just going with the flow.  Others look just as confused as I feel, wondering what the heck this dance scene is all about.

One boy in particular, who’s even shorter than I am and appears considerably less well-fed, is twirling around whilst juggling glowsticks.  Though he is performing fairly poorly…  From the raccoon-like circles around his cloudy gray-blue eyes I can’t blame him, I’m sure the excessive amount of belts he’s wearing isn’t helping either.  “THE STICKS!” He declares in a manically animated voice, “THEY ARE FILLED WITH DEADLY FAIRIIIIIIIES!!!”  Then he flails face-first into another person and is promptly bowled over by the man with a crooked grin who’s missing the right sleeve of his trenchcoat.
Ouch, I hope that skinny kid’s okay.

I look around again, absorbing the colors and movements that are my surroundings, while the music is slowly but steadily driving me into deafness. Did all of these people come here for the chance of winning a soul back from Death’s keeping?  Everyone risking their lives for a friend… for someone they love?

I’m thrown out of my thoughts when someone bumps into me, or rather I bump into him, I guess it doesn’t really matter the way this crowd can qualify to be a mosh-pit.  “Excuse me.” I automatically respond while turning to face him so as not to be rude.  
The face of the tall man is way more attractive than I am accustomed to beholding, and feel my face blushing appropriately.  His inky-black man-hair, which falls about his shoulders in a neatly trimmed row yet cropped short above his thin eyebrows, is far more beautiful than my girlish orange curls can ever hope to be.  He levels me with a long, cool, dark-eyed look before giving me a serene smile as if to say ‘think nothing of it.’  The tall man then slips elegantly between clumps of people, disappearing silently.

Coming out of the momentary stupor from encountering such an attractive face, I notice to my great dismay that I’ve wandered to the center of the crowd.  Consumed by a mass of twirling colors, I feel lost and a little more than misplaced; like a weed in a bed of carnations.  My eyes glance back and forth but find all the ways out blocked by tangled limbs.  This really isn’t exciting anymore, it instead boarders of panic inducing.  
What am I supposed to do next?  Where am I supposed to go?  Most importantly, why is Death hosting a rave in his Labyrinth, is it part of the tournament?

I shriek when a large pair of hands suddenly clamp around my waist from behind, although I doubt it’s heard over the blaring music.  One of my hands darts into my bookbag in search of my pepper-spray at the sensation of warm, damp breath fanning over the back of my neck.  Whoever is behind me leans in, his rough– _{stubble covered?} –cheek catching mine.  
“Fawn Jubilee Schuh…” A deep and decadent voice hisses, close enough to my ear to be heard clearly, as if tasting my name like wine.  I can feel the syllables being drawn out and inspected, like a customer scrutinizing a fabric to purchase.  

Realization hits me like a sack of bricks when I glance down and discover that the skin of the hands invading my space is the color PURPLE.  I whip around, his hands’ grip loosening enough to allow such an action, and am shocked by how the previously six-inch Imp now towers over me at six-feet.  That, and the fact that the most perfect set of pectoral muscles I’ve ever seen, outside of touched-up movies and doctored magazines, lay proudly bare before my virgin eyes.  My mouth is suddenly dry.
Tearing my eyes away from that sculpted male chest I raise my line of vision and find familiar sharp-toothed grin.  “Did you doubt I would find my Host?”

I would retort with a terribly witty response, but at the moment I’m struck speechless at the sight of the Imp.  Or rather at how much he’s changed.
Instead of a tailed little purple fairy-child, a tailed half-naked man with broad shoulders, trim waist and sleek musculature on a solid frame is currently wrapping himself around my waist.

As far as I’m concerned, this creature’s face is neigh on aesthetically perfect; a total and utter traffic-stopper with his razorblade cheekbones and jawline.  
However his face is not nearly as unnervingly beautiful as the dark symbols scattered across his torso and shoulders, glowing copper against dusky-purple skin.  More of the fascinating designs smoothed down the line of his calves.  Swirling dark spirals against that dusky-purple skin with its pebbly texture, rough and inhuman.  

His bone-white scarlet-tipped hair looks like he had just walked through a windstorm, choppy layers sticking up every which-way.  A thick braid trails down to his shoulders from behind each pointed ear, the ends wrapped and beaded.  This close I can smell his skin– embers, musk, and something spicy –and I note the loveliness of his eyelashes.
When he lifts his eyes their color strikes me.  The shade of garnets… the jewel-rich color threaded through with twisting crimson lines as arresting as freshly spilt blood.

Blood, that word prods my gray matter into working order.   From the sound of slaughter I fled from, shouldn’t the Imp be covered with the stuff?  Squirming in his hold, I ignore his finer points to give him a proper once-over.  But find not a drop of red blood on his violet-lavender skin, nor on the beads of his many necklaces, though the color of his loincloth’s pelt makes it hard to distinguish any stains.  Not that the stupid flashing strobe lights help.

“Don’t tell me…” The sinful slide of silk that is his laughter causes my knees to feel as stable as jelly. “You’re squeamish?”

Ignoring the fact that my body is attempting to betray me at every turn, I hastily shake my head.  “N-no! I just–” A chord is struck within me at the thought of lying to this creature, almost like an outside warning.  Before I can adjust to the feeling, I glance up and his sharp eyes pierce mine.
Uncomfortable under the intensity, I look away. “Sorry…”

“My Host should not act so submissive.” The Imp scoffs at my timidity. “Such impropriety only brings bad thoughts which seed wrong deeds.”  Out of confusion I turn back to make eye contact with him, but his face is a blank slate.  Just what is he implying!?

With my hackles effectively raised and my knees back in working order, I forcibly remove his hands from my waist.  Taking a step back, though quite literally only one step because of the surging mass of people, I harden my eyes for a glare.  “Alright!  Then I’ll be assertive!”  Jabbing my pointer finger against his bare chest I demand. “Tell me your name!”

At this change in attitude, the Imp seems to stop and look at me.  Really look at me.  I have to clench my hands into fists to keep from fidgeting.  There isn’t anything particularly lingering in that glance, nothing to suggest more than a casual quick perusal – but the faint, tiny glimmers of something more I spy in his eyes.
Then he smiles slowly. “As my Host, it is your right to grant me one.”

This statement takes me so off guard that metaphorically my feet have been swept out from under me.  “Oh! Um…”  What’s appropriate?  I’ve never named an Imp before.  Only the deafeningly loud music, flashing lights, and gyrating bodies fill the pregnant pause, as I nibble upon my lower lip while contemplating the matter.  I wish he would stop staring at me like that!  I don’t need added pressure.

Abruptly turning around, well at least he’s not staring anymore, his slim violet tails attracts my attention as it curls and uncurls like a yo-yo.  My vision strays up further and I am entranced by the network of scars on his broad back.  A pattern of lines, zigzagging across the expanse of his back, hair-thin in some places growing wider in other places.  I can’t make sense of the twisting lines.

“What of the name you likened me to previous?” His chocolaty-tones snap my attention back to its proper place.

Blinking against the sporadic illumination, I comb through our last conversations in my mind for the memory.  “…you mean, ‘possum?  Er, that’s more of a comparison for you playing dead than–”  His tail lashes violently to the side, I guess I am beating around the bush.  “Are you sure Possum will be the right name?”

“Right enough.” Abruptly he turns back ‘round and cuts one of his fingers open on a sharp canine fang.  I am most startled when the Imp presses the bloody blue finger against my lips.  Alarmed I step back, but he only steps forward, his footwork perfectly synchronized with mine so that the contact is not broken between us.  Suddenly his other hand wraps around my throat, effectively halting my movement.  I stare at him with lips sealed so tight they’re almost nonexistent.  
His broad shoulders heave as he expels a long-suffering sigh.  “This is part of the ritual, Fawn.”  I refuse to say anything, since that would involve opening the mouth he currently presses a BLOODY FINGER to.  This refusal earns a quirked pale brow.  “Your tongue must taste my blood then grant me a name.” His clawed thumb slips under my chin, forcing my face up.  “Only my Host may grant me a name….”

The look he gives me is the most heart-wrenching puppy-eyes I’ve ever been subjected to.  How can I say no to those near-teary begging eyes?  Shoving my disgust to a neglected corner of my mind, I quickly dart my tongue between my lips to the smallest drop of blue blood I can.  It tastes strange, like pennies.
After my begrudging sampling of his blood, the Imp drops that hand to join the other resting lightly around my throat… I really hope that’s part of the ‘ritual’ or else this is gonna be one messed-up relationship.
With the thick flavor of copper overwhelming my taste buds, unbidden words fall from my lips. “By this blood, by this name, you shall be known, Possum.”

Unlike our mercurial environment, the Imp is completely still as he absorbs the words that aren’t really mine, hands motionless against my throat.  Finally he moves, the utter stillness in his body cracking as he slides his hands down the sides of my neck and to my shoulders, down my arms before lazily sliding off my finger tips.  The fine hairs on my arms stand up at the contact, despite the layer of fabric in-between.  
Breathing a slow breath, the Imp suddenly catches my hand and begins to lift it to his own lips.  “By this name, by this blood, is our covenant forged.”  He then presses his lips to the back of my hand in a most chivalrous display of affection.  The kiss is soft and unhurried.  I can feel my ears heating up with embarrassment and something else– something that will be ignored.  

His crimson cat-eyes lift up and snare mine, looking so alien yet full of intelligence.  I’m closer to his body than I was before, our height difference demanding it since he doesn’t bend down to reach my hand.  My hand flexes when his pebbly skin scrapes across the tender cuts his previously smaller teeth left behind on my finger from out original encounter. This reflexive movement does not go unnoticed by those feline eyes.  

I watch with morbid fascination as the Imp slowly and carefully slides my finger into his mouth.  My entire being sparking to attention the moment I feel the faint swirl of his tongue around the teeth-marks, as he sucks ever so slightly to draw out even more blood to taste.  Unable to bear the sensation for long, I withdraw my digit, and he lets me, a small tinge of blood staining his lavender lips as they curve into a vague smile.

My finger tingles, the injuries now gone.  Lord above, I’m never going to get used to such healing sessions!  Ignoring the way my knees once again feel weak, I babble.  “So n-now you’re my official guide through the Labyrinth and guardian of my mortal body, huh?”

His smile exaggerates into a toothy grin. “Truly, my Host?”  The Imp’s face is suddenly mere inches from my own.  “Granting me not only a name, but permission to guard your body?”  Yikes, he moves fast, I didn’t even blink!

My hands brace against his bare and firmly muscled chest, to ensure some space between us and I feel it rumbling.  H-he’s purring!  Like a big cat!  I gulp, and feel his attentiveness to the movement.  Why is my breathing so rapid?  
I sense the Imp’s movement more than actually seeing it, but am too slow to actually avoid it.  My body jumps when he reaches beneath my clothing, claws lightly scoring my skin.  Despite its size his large hand fits under both my tank top and jacket at the small of my back, pressing flesh against flesh, the scratchy texture of his skin contrasting with the heated warmth of his clawed fingertips.  “H-hey! Possum!”

The thrumming, crooning note in the back of his throat grows more pronounced as the Imp draws even closer.  His free hand is currently wrapping one of his many beaded necklaces about my left wrist.  “Yes, human-mine?” Possum purrs close to my ear and I feel myself burn to ashes from the inside.  

As if this moment wasn’t embarrassing enough, I glance over the Imp’s broad shoulders and groan with mortification.  There are two couples watching us.

A tall woman and a slouching man make up one odd couple.  The woman is an eye-catcher with tan skin, a high ponytail of wavy black hair; icy blue eyes peer through thick lashes, symmetrical facial features with tastefully applied makeup.  Her tall frame is athletic yet curvy; she must hit the gym every day after work to keep that body.  Black leather is her wardrobe, save for a red tank top, thin silver chain necklace, and ruby stud earrings. With arms crossed over her breasts, she looks rather ticked off about something as she glares in our direction.
The slightly gangly man has a familiar face… No wait, maybe not.  The only really notable things about him are a pair of purple converse and an extra-insulated puffy black jacket, with pockets in which his hands are jammed.  Dull orangish-brown hair fluffs over his forehead.  The man appears to be caught mid-way in a double-take; shifty eyes scanning unbelievingly over my purple companion and myself.

The other pair is composed of a boy and a woman.  The boy’s eye and hair color are most unusual.  His half-lidded eyes are a lackluster violet-black, while his lengthy hair is as red as wine.  Red wine of course, not white.  He’s dressed very formally and neatly for his age, in a folded-cuffed white button-down shirt with a black tie under a brown suede vest, knee length brown shorts, and buckled black ankle boots.  The stripped stockings covering his legs are most out of place.   Though the boy doesn’t look impressed, his brows are raised in– surprise? Curiosity?  It’s hard to tell if he’s gazing at Possum or me.
The woman beside the boy also stands out from the crowd with shoulder length jet-black hair, layered and curling at the ends, pale skin, dark hazel eyes, all the right curves in all the right places, a pleasant face with a light dusting of freckles as well as the desired feminine features such as long eyelashes and full lips.  A interesting ensemble of tall high-heeled boots, fishnet stockings, a belt strapped skirt, a corset-bodice with clearly visible cleavage, and a  cropped long-sleeved jacket, all accented by round silver buttons.  She has a lot of bared skin, decorated by swirling tattoo-like flame markings.  By her unabashed stare and over-the-top smirk, she seems to be enjoying the show the Imp is putting on.

“Possum, they’re looking!” I whisper harshly, my face burning with shame.

His answer is lascivious. “Let them.”

Suddenly the bass-thumping music is cut, and what sounds like intercom speakers crackle to life.  Death’s voice floats out in the newly created silence.  “I hope y’all are enjoying the party Isiah decided to throw you.”  In the background there’s a hideous cackling laugh, like somebody chocking on a fishbone. _{“It’s all part of The Plan!”} “But now the real fun is going to begin.  There are 64 doors leading into my Labyrinth, first come, first serve.  Play nice.”

After Death’s announcement, it’s like a sea full of angry monkeys.  People running, dashing, colliding in their panic to find the aforementioned doors.  The flashing strobe and shifting lights only adds to the frenzied puzzlement of the masses.  I would join the madness if not for the large hand burrowed beneath my clothing, sharply tipped claws pressing against the small of my back.  
Lifting my line of vision I find that the Imp’s alluring features suddenly appear predatory.  

Before I can blink, Possum snatches me into his arms, hauling my smaller body easily upwards until I’m straddling his lean waist.  A half-strangled nonsensical noise escapes me, as his hand remains in place while his tail speedily loops around my waist like a security belt.  Absolutely mortified by the intimacy of our position, I kick my legs back and manage to hit him.  “Pu-put me d-down!”  Grabbing one of his braids I give it a good yank.
At such close contact I can feel the low growl rumble in his chest before it puffs across the bridge of my nose, but otherwise the Imp doesn’t react to my attack and doesn’t respond to my command.

Without warning Possum takes off, tearing across the room like wildfire.  The sudden momentum presses my body to his, and I release the braid of his bone-white scarlet-tipped hair to wrap my arms around his neck at the dizzying swiftness in which he moves.  His muscles ripple under my touch, his breath hissing across the damp skin of my neck.  Although his hand and tail keeps me securely steady, anxiety stirs my thoughts into a muddled mess.  Our surroundings are near-blurs at this rapid pace.  I hope Possum knows where he’s going!  

The Imp races with impossible speed through the crowd; I’m amazed he doesn’t crash into any scurrying individuals who often cause him to suddenly sidestep.  He sticks to a path though, and his quick stride closes the distance between us the previously far-off wall in the blink of an eye.
Glancing over my shoulder I can now see the evenly spaced doorways, gapping black rectangles amidst the steel beams lining the towering walls.  Already groups are diving through the openings, metal doors slamming closed once they’re through, locking all other hopefuls out.

A young man dressed like a Ye Olde Traveler, accessorized with metal boots and an expensive satin vest with golden buttons, with earrings in his right ear and green hair is rushing gracefully towards the same doorway as we are.  An orange haired man follows behind him, decked out in golden armor.  Yeesh, these guys must be loaded!
My grip tightens at the sudden whiplash of Possum’s abrupt halt. Without warning the Imp delivers a brutal kick to the young man’s torso, sending him flying through the air into my fellow carrot-top.  The other man manages to catch his air-borne comrade but they both crash to the cement floor from the force of the blow.  Eyes, one green and one yellow, are dazed from the blitzkrieg strike, while blue eyes glare up at us.  
I can only flash an apologetic smile over a broad purple shoulder before Possum leaps through the doorway.

When the metal door slams closed behind us the area is lightless, empty and black and still.
Crimson eyes flash, cat-like pupils piercing through the gloom.  His slim tail unwinds from around my waist, while his large hand finally slips out from under my clothes; his claws tickle as they carefully withdraw.  

I slide down his much taller body, my legs a bit shaky when they finally reach the floor.  Possum steady’s me with one hand, my anchoring point in the blinding dark.  Rubbing my sweat covered palms against the fabric of my jeans, there’s a frightened part of me that wants to back away from this Underworlder.  A scared piece of me that knows only one thing:  I’m in way over my head.  
  
However my resolve soon straightens my back and strengthens my legs.  This is my chance to make everything right, fix all of the troubles I have caused.  I can’t run away.

However I don’t deny the nervousness encroaching upon my mind.  My own hand slips into Possum’s larger one, squeezing for reassurance.  “W-will we get lost?”  My apprehensive tone echoes back at me and I wince.

“I will act as guide, leading us through this Labyrinth.”  He’s not breathing hard at all as his deep voice rolls over me, sending shivers down my spine.  “Never you mind.”  The Imp moves in this liquid darkness as if it was the sea, as if it was the sky, as if it was the last encroaching thing that will ever matter.