She descended the steps that lead to the lair with a crucifix in one hand and a sharp, wooden stake in the other. Soon, she would have her revenge. Soon, she would plunge the stake into the lifeless heart of the harlot beast—the worst of the Seven Deadly. Soon, the monster’s reign of shame and destruction would be over.
      The sound of her breathing echoed from stone wall to stone wall reverberating through the narrow arched corridor and over the endless steps. She stopped to gather her resolve. The relentless beating of her heart pounded against her ears. Perhaps it was simply the cramped, dimly lit ambiance of the corridor, or the way it amplified the slightest sound. It might have reminded her of a haunted house, if she had ever visited such a sordid place.
      “They’re only shadows. Nothing to be afraid of; only shadows.”
      She closed her eyes and breathed deep, struggling to regain control. Power. Yes. She needed to remember her power. Let there be authority over evil and the might to break the chains of bondage. Let the devil tremble at her footsteps as she boldly moved forward to do the Lord’s work. Let the sanctuary of the Seven Deadly be defiled, just as they dared to defile hers, and the sanctuary of her disgraced husband. There was power in being a Child of God, and now was certainly time to take hold of it.
      “Be strong in the Lord, and in his mighty power.”
      As for the rest of the spiritual armor, she was saved, righteous, truthful, peaceable, and a woman of faith who knew the Word as well as most. She was ready. She was equipped. She was on a mission against the very gates of hell, which were guaranteed not to withstand her.
      She resumed her descent with a fortified resolve towards the lair where her victim was waiting. Her power could not fail. Her faith would not falter. Lust was doomed. The little slut just didn’t know it yet.

Chapter 1
Anger

      Click. “Two on, two out. Bottom of the forth—”
      Click. “—all this for just $19.95!”
      Click. “Agnes Miller, come on down!”
      A deep, thunderous growl rumbled somewhere in Anger’s throat as he turned from the poker table to glare at Sloth. Anger’s hand balled into a fist, and crushed the playing cards he was holding.
      “Pick something already!” Tension knotted his broad shoulders and the veins in his muscular neck felt ready to burst. The lair developed a reddish tinge as the flames of his fury rushed into his eyes. “You’ve got, what, five hundred channels on that thing?”
      Sloth turned his head to look over the back of the couch, as though he found Anger to be only mildly interesting. The two stared at each other for several moments before Sloth turned his attention back to the giant screen TV, which cast a soft glow over the shadows, the couch, the poker table, the full-length mirror, and most everything else in the cavernous underground lair.
      Click. “That’s right, kids! It’s your old pal, Mr. Funnypants!”
      Anger’s growl became a roar as he rose to his feet, nearly upending the poker table.
      Several of the other shadows protested, Greed most notable among them.
      Anger paid them no heed. “That’s it, you worthless piece of—”
      “Leave him be, Darlin’,” Lust said in her mellifluous, Southern drawl. “Save it for your donors. Shoot, he ain’t even worth it.”
      But he was. Sloth’s incessant flipping of the channels was like the white noise version of the Chinese water torture. Drip. Drip. Drip. Click. Click. Click. Why couldn’t the others understand that? How could he have managed to surround himself with such a gaggle of dim-witted, stupid-faced, morons who couldn’t wrap their tiny brains around the most basic of concepts?
      Anger turned his fury on Lust and took hold of her wrist until he felt her bones cracking in his vice-like grip.
      She looked up at him with her eyebrows tight and teeth clenched. “Come to punish me, Tough Guy?” She nearly cooed the words, as though the strumpet was actually enjoying the abuse.
      Anger trembled with rage. Stupid whore; she was just as brainless as the rest of them. He let out a lion-like roar that echoed through the stone walls of the lair, making sure she could see his fangs.
      She didn’t have the sense to tremble.
      He wrenched her arm so that she was pulled from her seat and thrown to the floor. Anger released his grip and watched her fall freely until she landed hard. She came to rest on her side, her luscious mane of raven hair flowing helter-skelter in all directions. Her good hand cradled her crushed wrist, though it quickly mended itself and reclaimed its former shape. Regeneration was one of the few benefits of being undead, although presently Anger wished the wrist would stay broken.
      Her sapphire eyes looked up at Anger as she brushed a few stray locks away from her ashen face with her dainty hand. The suggestive pose showcased her impossible figure and immodest sense of fashion. “Gonna spank me next?” It sounded like less of a question and more of a hope. “I’ve been awful naughty.”
      Anger looked down on her and fumed. Stupid slut didn’t have the sense to suffer when he wanted her too, which might have made his outburst somewhat satisfying.
      Equally vexing, however, was the mere sight of her, a voluptuous woman posed for a pleasure that he, for the death of him, couldn’t feel. He couldn’t see her curves as desirable. He couldn’t discern her as any more alluring than Gluttony who was endlessly stuffing his mouth with potato chips. There was something good in her shape that he knew he was missing, and the injustice of it all enraged him. “Save it for your donors, whore.”
      In a huff, he returned to his seat and threw the wadded up cards on the table.
      Greed smiled, displaying his gilded fangs. “I’ll assume that counts as a fold?”
      Anger simply glared at Greed. The idiot would probably try to declare himself king again after winning yet another hand, as if the pile of poker chips in front of him meant anything. The whole game was just a pointless way to pass the time. Pointless, like the endless hours Pride spent primping herself before a reflectionless mirror. Pointless, like Envy’s continuous whining about things she didn’t really want. Pointless, like the slut’s attempts to seduce anything with legs, though she’d have a better chance at charming the poker table, than anyone in the lair.
      Gluttony bit down on another handful of potato chips, and the resulting crunch grated on Anger’s nerves. Worse yet, the slob insisted on chewing with his mouth open, which resulted in a smack, smack, smack of his corpulent lips. The pathetic imbecile didn’t even require food!
      They were batty as a bunch of loons, the lot of them, each more irritating than the other. It would be a difficult choice to determine which one of them he hated the most.
      Click. “—in his natural habitat, though he must be on a constant vigil against predators.”
      Then again, the choice might not be that difficult. Perhaps whoever it was descending the steps would be a slayer come to kill the sitting duck. Anger wouldn’t mind. Hell, he’d be happy to help.

Chapter 2
Greed

      Anger was just jealous because he was losing, which usually happened when they played poker. But of course, he didn’t take the game seriously, none of them did. That’s why Greed won all the time; that’s why he owned them. King Greed, worshiped at the temples that lined the Las Vegas strip, Lord of corporate America, and Master of the lair.
      He watched Lust return to her seat between Anger and Envy. Like Anger, she had a gothic appearance, though, unlike him, she was slender with all the right exceptions. Greed smiled an empty smile, pretending he felt something when he looked at her. It didn’t matter. He owned her all the same. His ringed fingers stroked the gold chains around his neck. King Greed indeed.
      “Raise,” he said, tossing in a few more chips to the pot. He then turned to Gluttony. “Tubby?”
      Gluttony looked back at him as though needing a reminder that they were playing cards. He resembled a balloon with appendages, the fat of his body nearly swallowing his arms so that he could hardly use them. A round pudgy head crowned the monstrosity with several chins that giggled whenever he was chewing, which was often.
      Somehow, Gluttony managed to look down at the pile of potato chip crumbs on the velvet green table before him. His arms wrapped around his bulbous form to brush them away, causing an avalanche of the crumbs that littered his front. The pile reformed as soon as he’d cleared the first one, but eventually he found his cards.
      “Get your slop off the table, you pig,” Anger said. “You’re making a mess!”
      Gluttony looked up at Anger, apparently taken aback, but before he could respond, Greed took hold of his jumbo bag of chips and tossed it on the floor.
      “He’s right,” Greed said. “You are making a mess. Either play cards or stuff yourself. In or out?”
      Gluttony looked at Greed, dropped his gaze to the mountain of chips before him, checked his own modest pile, and finally returned his attention to his cards. He considered them for a moment, then used them to scoop up the crumbs before finally laying them face down on the table. It was only after he stuffed the pieces into his already full mouth that he attempted to speak. “Fold.”
      Greed looked at Gluttony for a moment and wondered how marvelously disgusting the view into his open mouth must have been.
      “Envy?” he said, moving on to the next player.
      “Hmm?” Her emerald, exaggerated, saucer eyes were fixed on Lust, no doubt wishing that her toothpick frame didn’t bear a striking resemblance to an anime minor. A wistful hand passed over her flat chest.
      “Envy!” Greed shouted in the hopes of getting her attention. It was a common enough problem in the lair; each of the wraith-like shadows were always lost in their own little world, like seven centers of the universe crammed into a spacious cavern that never seemed big enough.
      Envy’s emerald eyes suddenly shot to his.
      “In or out, stick girl?”
      She sulked over her pile of chips and tossed a few more into the pot. “Call.”
      “Not me, Darlin’,” Lust said, dropping her cards down before her. “Besides, if I hemorrhage any more chips your direction you might get the impression that you own me.”
      “But I do.” Greed laid four queens on the table. “That’s part of being king.”
      “Here we go again,” Pride said, never taking her eyes off the mirror and the reflection she didn’t cast. “You are so full of yourself.”
      Greed looked at the elegant blonde and snickered, knowing the irony of the comment should have been funny. As always, she looked like a supermodel moments before a shoot. Though not as curvaceous as Lust, she was presumably twice as beautiful. Greed remembered this to be the case, but presently couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. He owned them both.
      “I am full of myself?”
      She apparently heard the implication in his voice. “At least I have reason to be. Stuff may be what you own, but beauty is what I am. Crown yourself king if you want.” She tore herself away from the mirror and opened a nearby wardrobe. “I even have a crown you can borrow.”
      She removed a kingly crown from the upper shelf and tossed it on to the table where it landed with the pile of chips in the pot. Foolish girl. Greed owned the cabinet and the crown, just like he owned her. She could lend it to him all she wanted, but he wasn’t borrowing anything.
      Greed glanced over to an arched entry way with a raised landing that curved to the left and opened to a long flight of stairs. He looked at Gluttony and found a piece of jerky hanging from his mouth like a radiated tumor. Greed didn’t see where it had come from, but he opted not to ask.
      “Did you order another pizza?”
      Gluttony shook his head, causing his multiple layers of fat to giggle. “No. Not a bad idea though.”
      “Hmm.”
      Anger chuffed. “I suppose he needs your royal permission to do so?”
      “I can be a magnanimous ruler,” Greed said, calm in the face of Anger’s rage, proof of his rightful, regal claim.
      “I wish I ruled something,” Envy said. Her whiny, high pitched voice seemed to squeak as she spoke.
      “He don’t rule nothin’, Darlin’. He just thinks he does.”
      “My donors would disagree,” Greed said. Donors, after all, were his real kingdom.
      “My donors can beat up your donors.” Anger said, looking as though he wished they would.
      “Your donors are my donors,” Greed said.
      Pride shook her head. “Your donors are slaves.”
      “Not all of them,” Greed said. “I, too, hunt my share of the Lost.”
      “The chosen few of ‘You-Know-Who,’” Lust said. “Well worth the hunt, I should know.”
      “All hail, Queen Lust.” Anger moaned the words as though they pained him.
      Envy crossed her arms and extended her lower lip. “I wish I was Queen.”
      “Kings over Queens,” Greed said. He crowned himself with the trinket on the table, as though it proved his point.
      “I dunno, Darlin’,” Lust said with a wry, inviting smile. “I’d take it either way.”
      “Save it for your donors, whore,” Anger said.
      Greed collected his winnings from the center of the table and leaned back in his chair. Fools. Let them challenge his sovereignty all they wanted. Let them bicker and argue over who was the deadliest of the seven. It didn’t matter. At the end of the night he would still own each one of them, just like he owned everything else in the lair. After all, that was part of being king.

Chapter 3
Envy

      Envy watched Greed’s pile of chips consume the pot, and wished. She never got anything she wanted, which really wasn’t fair because she wasn’t asking for all that much. Just a large pile of poker chips, Greed’s crown, Lust’s body, Gluttony’s bag of potato chips which he never even offered to share, Pride’s mirror and fashionable wardrobe, and, of course, Sloth’s big screen TV, which was actually Greed’s but should have been hers because she never got anything. It just wasn’t fair.
      The cards were returned to the deck, including the five Anger crumpled in the previous hand, and the stack was passed to Envy. Despite being a new pack at the beginning of the game, every card was now mangled or creased in one unfortunate fashion or another. Already, they had been forced to abandon the seven of clubs and the jack of diamonds.
      Envy looked at Anger with wistful eyes as she shuffled the forlorn deck. Lucky jerk; she wished she could feel angry all the time, because at least then she would be feeling something. But no, emptiness was her lot, her gift to bestow on her donors; an emptiness that often led to invitations for the remaining six shadows in the lair. Well, maybe not Sloth, but the others always seemed to follow her around like a pack of vultures eager for the leftovers of a true predator. She wished she could have leftovers.
      Wait a minute!
      “I should be Queen,” Envy said, as she started to deal the cards. “Or at least some kind of leader, ‘cause you guys are always following me around.”
      “How so?” Lust said.
      Greed and Gluttony also looked curious, though Anger just rolled his eyes as though she’d gone completely bonkers.
      Envy presented her case. “You know. Every time I claim a donor, it opens a door for one of you. I pave the way for you to get invited in, which means I’m the leader.”
      Pride huffed. “Like we need an invitation from slaves.”
      “The Lost then,” Envy said. “I hunt very well in the eclipse of self, and after I bring them down with a whisper of ‘if only,’ in come the rest of you after my leftovers.”
      She put her hand on the side of her face and mimicked the whining tone of her donors.
      “‘If only I was popular or better looking.’ In comes Gluttony with his eating disorders, or Anger with his ‘Better Living through Self-Mutilation’ pitch. ‘I wish I had a bigger house like my neighbor has.’” She pointed at Greed. “‘I wish I had a girlfriend who looked like that.’” She pointed at Lust, then crossed her arms in a pout. “I wish I had someone’s leftovers for a change.”
      “You can have mine,” Pride said, checking for microscopic flaws in her lipstick.
      Envy was affronted by the offer. “Why would I want your leftovers?”
      Anger pounded a fist against the table causing Greed’s neatly stacked piles to topple over. “I swear! If someone doesn’t shut her up—”
      “You’ll pound her rap trap closed,” Gluttony said. It was a threat they had all heard several times before.
      “Shut it, lard boy.” Anger rose from his chair. In a flash, he reached across the table, snatched the jerky from Gluttony’s mouth, and threw it to the other side of the cavernous lair. His brows tightened as he checked his hand. “Terrific. He drooled all over it.”
      Anger wiped his hand in Sloth’s hair, who didn’t even flinch. By the time he sat back down, Gluttony had produced another stick of dried meat from beneath the table and began to suckle it. Saliva stained his chin.
      Envy wished she had some jerky, but Gluttony didn’t offer her any. He never did.
      “I’ll admit, Darlin,” Lust said, looking over her rumpled cards, “that you played your part in one of my latest kills.”
      “The minister caught yesterday giving his secretary more than the sermon notes?” Anger growled through a smirk when Lust nodded to confirm his guess. “I’ve had a few invitations because of that little episode myself.”
      “But just because some rube preacher in his mid-life crisis gets a hankerin’ to upgrade to a newer model don’t mean he’s gonna drop like a house of cards.” The vixen leaned back and stroked her side. “It takes a little more, and you ain’t got it, Sugar. Ain’t never heard of a preacher disgraced ‘cause of envy.”
      Wide emerald eyes watched Lust trace her curvy outline. Envy sighed. She wished she had—
      Click. “So, call today to order the last set of kitchen knives you’ll ever own.”
      Five more playing cards lost their shape as Anger’s hand balled into a fist.
      “I swear, if you don’t pick something I’m gonna shove that remote up your—”
      Greed let his hands fall against the table. “Delightful as the conversation is, we are in the middle of a game here.”
      “I wish I had a remote,” Envy said.
      Anger stood from his seat. “Really?” He leaned over the back of the couch and wrenched the remote from Sloth’s hand. “Here,” he said, tossing the remote onto the table in front of Envy. “But if you don’t pick something and stick with it, twig, I’ll snap you.”
      Envy eyed the remote as though it were a lame consolation prize. She picked it up and looked at Anger as though he’d gone completely bonkers. “What am I going to do with this? I’d rather have the TV.”
      Anger clenched his teeth. “Having the remote is as good as having the TV.”
      Envy looked at her fellow shadows in disbelief. The TV, the remote, leftovers; had they all gone mental? Why would they think she wanted any of this stuff? Heck, Greed’s pile of poker chips would have been a better gift than this load of tripe. They were batty as loons, the lot of them, or they would have realized that what she really wanted was the crown. Just the crown, that’s all—plus a short list of other items. Honestly, was that too much to ask?
      She tossed the dumb old remote back onto the couch next to Sloth and crossed her arms in a well deserved pout. Anger could fume at her for the rest of the night if he wished, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the crown on Greed’s head. But of course, it would never be hers.
      It was so unfair. She never got what she wanted.

Chapter 4
Gluttony

      “You… it was… I … stupid whiner… that…” Anger’s temper had flared to a point that he was having trouble speaking, and every muscle in his bulldog build seemed ready to self-destruct.
      Click. “Next on the Reality Channel, follow the dramatic lives of New York City garbage men on ‘Down in the Dumps.’”
      “Twig, I swear I’m gonna—”
      “Sticks and stones may break our bones,” Gluttony said, unimpressed.
      “Good!” Anger changed targets and vented his temper on Gluttony. “I can’t wait to get started on you!”
      Gluttony gestured towards the arched opening. “Save it for your donors. And speaking of which, I believe dinner is on its way.”
      Anger pointed to the jerky which hung from Gluttony’s mouth. “I’d say it’s already arrived.”
      “There are many different kinds of food,” Gluttony said.
      He bit off a chunk of the jerky, considered it for a moment, and then shoved the rest into his mouth. His lips smacked as he chewed, but before Anger could protest the sound, he swallowed. The food reached his empty stomach and dissolved at once, leaving it just as vacant as had the potato chips, the lobster, the hot wings, the pot of chili, the six foot sub sandwich, and everything else he’d ingested in the last hour. Gluttony was the ultimate consumer, and though the world was his buffet he was never able to dispel the emptiness except when he passed it on to his donors.
      “A most fascinating thought,” Greed said, though it was clear he didn’t mean a word of it. “Let’s get back to the game, shall we? Lust?”
      She rapped her knuckles twice on the table. “Check.” Then, she turned her attention to the arched opening and looked intrigued. “So who do ya’ll suppose it is this time?”
      Gluttony shrugged with supreme effort. “Another slave, most likely.”
      “Too bad there’s only one of them,” Anger said.
      Gluttony agreed. He was hungry with the kind of appetite that only an orgy could appease. Now would be a good time for a rush of booze-bingeing fraternity boys, or sorority girls, or even the occasional church potluck. Though, of course, he’d settle for a shop-a-holic out to buy yet another pair of shoes she didn’t need. There were many kinds of appetites, and many kinds of food.
      The sound of the visitor’s breathing was getting closer and closer. Whoever it was had nearly reached the landing, and the rapid rate of the fool’s vitals suggested their arrival could mean trouble. The others seemed to have sensed it too, and the predatory alertness was palpable throughout the lair.
      “Dinner is served,” Gluttony said in no more than a whisper.
      But then it appeared around the corner, befouling their lair, their sanctuary, with its offensive image. Seven shadows readied themselves for action at the vile sight of the crucifix. For the moment, Gluttony forgot his hunger, the constant vacancy which rumbled inside him.
      Dinner might not have arrived after all.

Chapter 5
Pride

      Pride was the last one to go for cover when the slayer entered the lair as she needed to check her appearance one last time. True, it could have been a fatal mistake with disastrous consequences. But nothing was quite as important as she was, and at least she had her priorities straight.
      As she finally ducked behind the full-length mirror, she saw that Greed had removed the crown from his head to increase his maneuverability. The crown; wasn’t she marvelous to have let him borrow it? He could claim to be a “magnanimous ruler” all he wanted but she knew that he was as self-serving as the rest of them. Of the seven, she alone had any sense of generosity, which, of course, made her quite superior.
      An angry shout brought her back to the business at hand.
      “You’ve brought down your last man of God, Lust.” The middle-aged woman glared at her quarry from across the room. She held the crucifix out in front of her with her left hand as she stepped forward. A wooden stake was clutched in her right, ready on a level with her shoulder.
      The shadows shuddered but remained where they were, leaving Lust alone and vulnerable behind the poker table.
      “Is that right?” she said, trying to banter but obviously uncomfortable with the cross and the stake unquestionably intended for her. “And by what power do you back that claim, Darlin’?”
      “By the power of the Cross,” the slayer shouted, voicing her righteous indignation, and betraying her hurt. Pride guessed her identity at once.
      The minister’s wife waved the crucifix in Lust’s face from across the room and charged. Her target, however, managed to evade the assault by faking to her right before sprinting left. The slayer rounded the table, toppling chairs as she ran, and stopped at a sectional which now stood between her and her prey.
      Lust’s voice trembled with wavering confidence. “You’re bein’ foolish, Darlin’.”
      “Don’t you ‘Darlin’ me, you whore.”
      “You’re never gonna leave this place alive.”
      “No,” the slayer said, “You’re the one who’s going die here.”
      Anger emerged from his hiding place to cheer on the slayer. “Kill her. That Jezebel deserves to be put out of every one else’s misery!”
      Lust glanced at Anger, looking betrayed and hurt.
      “She certainly does,” the slayer said, starting around the sectional only to have Lust run the other way.
      Pride watched the scene unfold with great interest. She knew the game, and could easily discern the subtleties. The slayer’s righteous indignation was teetering dangerously close to the edge. All that was needed was an invitation to knock it over.
      Anger moved in. “Those dirty whores all deserve to die! Every last one of them! Let them be sent to hell where they belong!”
      “Here, here!” she said.
      Anger leapt forward at the woman’s invitation and sank his teeth into her neck. She seemed energized by the bite, they always did at first.
      Anger began to laugh.
      “Die, you filthy whore!” The minister’s wife lunged feebly with the stake, missing her target by several feet. Lust cried out in terror and made an equally feeble attempt to escape.
      Pride abandoned her hiding place and reappeared by the slayer’s side, close enough to whisper in her ear. “Such a despicable creature. She’s hardly even worthy of being brought down by a fine, upstanding Christian like yourself.”
      “Oh,” the woman said, exhibiting the torpid effects of Anger’s kiss. “She’s worthy.”
      Pride conceded with a nod. “Too true. Actually, you should be thanked for doing the world such a great service. There really should be more people like you.”
      “The church would be better off if there were.”
      Pride opened her mouth in baleful smile and sank her fangs into her victim’s neck. The woman’s stocky figure rose at the additional dose of venom, as though adrenaline had been pumped directly into her heart.
      Pride suckled the crimson life from the woman, and once again remembered what it was to feel happy. A hundred jokes filled her mind at once, and each one actually tickled something inside of her. Still feeding, still consuming the ability to live, she began to chuckle, then laugh, then guffaw until the tears started pouring down her face.
      Suddenly, her mood swung and she remembered what it was to be sad. The sweetness of sorrow filled her heart so that her tears of laughter became unabashed weeping. How marvelous it was to feel sad; to feel her heart breaking when for so long she couldn’t even feel it beat. She was overwhelmed by the beauty of the experience, just as she was now overwhelmed to experience beauty.
      Little by little, Pride drained the woman’s life, exchanging emotional void for vivaciousness. Such was the nature of the Seven Deadly. The Lost should have known better, but apparently did not. Lucky for her. Theirs was real life; not like the cheap imitation found in slaves. It was for this reason they tasted all the sweeter.
      Pleasure flooded her deadened senses, brought on by the crimson elixir. Sorrow returned mingled with remorse for the fate of her donor. Such a glorious pang of guilt! Yes, it was unfortunate that another needed to die so that Pride could live, but after all, there was nothing as important as she.
      At least her priorities were straight.

Chapter 6
Lust

      Lust heaved in feigned horror which bordered on the melodramatic as she slowly retreated, allowing herself to be dominated and wondering how sensual it must have felt. Faking it, of course, was the next best thing, but she would have happily killed to know the passion which presently burned in the woman’s eyes.
      Anger and Pride, affixed to either side of her neck, were beginning to show signs of life. They giggled, wept, trembled, and moaned with pleasure in no discernable pattern or sense of reason. Batty as loons, the lot of them.
      Still, Lust maintained her defenseless façade, mimicking a tremulously brave front. “Give it up while ya still can, Darlin’. You ain’t strong enough to bring me down. I’ll get you just like I got your hypocritical husband.”
      “Get me?” The slayer laughed at the apparent emptiness of the threat. “You can’t even touch me. I have the power of God on my side!” She waved the crucifix out in front of her, as though to flaunt the authority.
      Lust winced at the word and shriveled before the vile object. Yet the cross of Christ, repugnant though it was, could not be compared to the true horror and fatal illumination of the Christ of the cross. Fortunately, the light of the Son was dim in the slayer’s eyes, muted even further by her confederate’s venom. Without this deadly light, the repulsive cross was a dull and tolerable trinket.
      “The pow’r of God…” The word felt revolting in her mouth and she spit it out in disgust. “His pow’r is useless here.”
      “You lie!”
      Lust remained calm, though her adversary had stumbled onto a dangerous line of thought. Of course she was lying, they all were, for this was the power of the shadows. The seven of them were bottles of poison, and it was only through embellishments, exaggerations, and empty promises that they could ever entice anyone to drink.
      Power—let the slayer dominate her all she wanted on that front. She promised to beg and plead and writhe, engorging that false sense of superiority. Lust would gladly submit to the woman’s hatred and self-righteous contention, enduring the punishment she so amply deserved. For power itself was easily turned into a lie; even in the S&M clubs, it was the submissive who always retained control.
      But truth? Truth was a floodlight fatal to shadows and the contradictions of which they were comprised. Truth, like the light of the Son, would have ended the hunt, so that even Anger and Pride would be forced to pull out and flee. Power afforded the slayer authority over a willing subordinate, but truth would have devastated her eclipse of self, the blind spot in her defenses, the refuge from which the hunt was allowed to continue. Truth would have given her a disastrous run of the lair.
      “You’re pow’r is insufficient.” Lust said, trying to divert the woman’s focus.
      “My power is plenty sufficient, just as God is sufficient!”
      The shadows winced. Another truth had been voiced, and though the eclipse remained intact, it was shaken.
      Lust squinted and shielded her eyes. The dimly lit lair suddenly seemed intolerantly bright.
      “I wish I had power,” Envy said, rushing up behind the slayer. “That is, I wish I had power like yours. You’re so strong in what you believe.”
      “I believe the truth.”
      Envy’s emerald eyes went wide with a hint of panic. “Of course. But if only your husband believed as strongly as you.”
      The light in the lair dimmed as the tack took effect. The woman’s forehead creased, probably in lament for her husband’s shame. “Perhaps.” She said. But then her brow furrowed as she seemed to regroup her resolve, her strength, her belief—all of which were powerless without the truth.
      Lust continued the charade in a cavernous room once again lit for the comfort of shadows. She glanced at Envy who, despite her constant whining, was undeniably a skilled temptress in her own right. Though this woman was among the Lost, those no longer bound in service to the Seven Deadly, Lust could see the invitation forming on her face to welcome back her old master.
      “Not to speak ill of your husband, of course,” Envy said, “but he was only human. If only you looked as good as you did twenty years ago, perhaps you wouldn’t have lost his attention in the first place.”
      Lust took notice as the slayer wistfully examined her sultry form. The shadow arched her back, sucked in her bare midriff, and posed like a pinup in peril for maximum effect.
      It seemed to work, as the woman’s face sank. She faintly nodded. “If only.”
      Envy bared her fangs and sank them into the slayer’s thigh, claiming the leftovers Pride had promised. Her kiss invigorated the slayer, though the woman didn’t seem to notice the crucifix slip from her hand and clatter to the floor.
      Greed quickly swept it away, no doubt to add it to his horrid collection.
      For the moment, however, he tossed it back to the poker table and rounded on Lust. She made to retreat the other way, but Gluttony was moving in to cut her off, his speed and agility surprising for his size. In a moment she was captured and restrained as their hands closed around her upper arms.
      “Finish her!”
      “No!” Lust played at an attempt to escape, twisting and writhing in a vain struggle to break free. Her predicament was terribly unfair; bound by two men and yet unable to enjoy it.
      The slayer, unsteady and waylaid by three emotionally ludicrous shadows, seized her opportunity and lunged forward with the stake, thrusting with her last ounce of strength for Lust’s heart.
      She missed by nearly an arm’s length.
      Her precarious balance faltered, and she fell.
      Lust, however, snatched the stake from the descending woman and placed the point against her chest. She gasped as though the weapon had found its mark, as though it had pierced her skin, as though she could feel the presumed sensuality of being slain. Faking it, of course, was the next best thing.
      “Oh!” Her weak cry was lost in the sound of the slayer collapsing to the floor. She placed the back of her left hand against her forehead to lament her misfortune. “You got me!” Lust staggered melodramatically between Greed and Gluttony, who no longer restrained her, but simply watched as she feigned her own demise—a live action snuff film with no one to enjoy it, least of all, her.
      She faked it none the less.
      “Good,” the slayer said, lying prone on the cold, stone floor. Her pale face accented her smiling blue lips. The lethargy of her form was matched by her voice. “You… you deserve to… to die for the pain you’ve…”
      Suddenly, her expression changed to one of hollow horror as the erotic charm of the venom wore off and she whimpered, “Oh, God…”
      The traces of light which remained in her eyes finally went out, replaced by a vacancy only the undead could appreciate.
      Pride, Anger, and Envy extracted themselves from her lifeless corpse, their faces wild, as though sensing their familiar lair with a fresh perspective. Lust looked on them in wonder, trying to remember what they must have been feeling.
      “You were right, Darlin,” she said to the fallen slayer, releasing the stake and allowing it to fall with a clatter against the stone floor. “I couldn’t touch you, ‘least not without an invitation.”
      As she said this, she gestured to the three shadows whose ashen faces had actually gained some color.
      At that same moment, Greed dashed in front of her and snatched up the stake before anyone else had the chance to grab it. He then sprinted to the poker table, reclaimed the crucifix, and escaped to his room with his prizes.
      Lust shook her head as she watched him go. Batty as loons, the lot of them. His precious collection was in no danger of being looted by them, especially not when something far more valuable had foolishly entered the lair.
      She turned envious eyes on the three who’d fed. Pride was looking down at herself admiring her clothes. Anger and Envy were admiring her also as though she were a work of art.
      “I wish I was as pretty as you.”
      “I know, right?” Pride smiled at Anger and Envy in turn and then looked down at their donor. “A pity about her, though.”
      The others looked down at the fallen body, and Lust could see sympathy in their faces; marvelous sympathy, which could only be achieved by the glory of a breaking heart. She couldn’t share in their emotion, but she faintly remembered how wonderful it had been to experience.
      She crossed her hands over her heart and looked down at the woman as though Lust was an angel statue above a tombstone. Her brow wrinkled with the sympathy she couldn’t feel, and then she did what she always did in the absence of sensation. She faked it.

Chapter 7
Sltoh

      Sloth had returned to the couch long before the melee climaxed, and now that it was over, he resigned himself to his usual activities.
      Click. “It’s over between us Dorian. I’m going back to Baltimore with my husband.”
      He chuffed recalling the way the slayer had looked right through him, as she always did when he hounded her eclipse. He was the reason she’d skimmed through her Bible instead of truly studying it. He was the reason she could always find someone else to do her share of the work around the church—pastor’s wife, after all. He was the reason she’d simply sat back every Sunday morning and enjoyed the show.
      Click. “—and press, and press, and stretch. Two more.”
      He was the one who’d softened her up, leaving the others a nicely tenderized donor. But did they ever bother to say ‘thank you?’ Of course not; lazy slobs. They just threatened him, accused him of not earning his keep, and worst of all, they made him miss his various shows. One of these nights he’d turn on the lot of them and set the record straight. Probably not tonight, of course, and certainly not at this moment, but he was sure to get around to it eventually.
      Click. “Captain! The ship is overrun by aliens! What are your orders?”
      “I suppose we’d better get her out of here before she starts to reek,” Pride said.
      Lust clasped her hands in agreement. “Oh yes. Decomp is such an unpleasant odor.”
      “I know,” Envy said. “Don’t you just wish she could start rotting now so we could appreciate it?”
      “Oh, that is truly disgusting,” Anger said.
      “Absolutely,” Pride said, nearly gagging. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
      Gluttony waddled over to where the body lay. Sloth didn’t have to turn his head to see this; the sound of his heavy footfalls was enough.
      Anger chuckled. “You’re a little late, fatso. The buffet just closed, and I gotta tell you, it was a killer.”
      The girls laughed at the joke, including Lust for reasons Sloth never completely understood. None of them, save for himself of course, were really quite right in the head.
      Envy’s laugh changed to a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, poor Gluttony didn’t get anything. How sad.”
      Funny—or so Sloth presumed. She didn’t sound sad.
      “Not a total loss,” Gluttony said, groaning as he bent over. Sloth glanced over to see him carrying the slayer’s body towards the jerky room. “I could still order a pizza.”
      “Or a kegger,” Lust said.
      Gluttony grunted his approval of the idea. “Even better. Maybe that way even lazy butt over there would get a bite.”
      Anger, Pride, and Envy erupted with laughter at the sound of the pun. Lust followed suit like some dizzy dame not wanting to be left out of a joke she didn’t understand.
      They were at it again; mocking him, laughing at him, disrespecting him as though he’d hadn’t really made the list of the Seven Deadly Sins. But he had, and he deserved their respect as a fellow predator who stalked the Lost in their eclipse of self with equal fervor and skill. Better yet, they owed him. Each one of them should line up before the couch—but not in front of the TV—and express, in no uncertain terms, their gratitude for all the groundwork he laid on their behalf.
      But of course, no one appreciated him, or even bothered to say thank you. One of these nights, he would give those slackers a piece of his mind. One of these nights he would set the record straight. One of these nights he’d get around to making them see how valuable he was.
      But probably not tonight.
      Click.