When young prince Ariston sails into the infamous strait of Messina, his ship’s crew is faced with an impossible choice: drown in a whirlpool or surrender themselves to Scylla, a twelve-armed monster. The ship’s crew decides to offer up the arrogant Ariston to Scylla’s many arms, hoping that his untouched beauty will distract the monster.
And it works – twelve slick tentacles caress the humiliated prince everywhere, while an entire ship full of sailors watches!
One of the tentacles was speeding toward the ship again, undulating over the waves.
Ariston watched it approach, frozen with fear.
It danced over the waves like a great sea-snake, its coils supple and sleek, the tip bulbous, with a small slit where the mouth must be.
Some of the sailors were praying audibly, to Poseidon, to Zeus, to anyone who could hear them.
Ariston tried to kick out at the tentacle’s tip when it was close enough. A last act of defiance, maybe – he could not fight this creature, but he would not be taken without a struggle.
It didn’t last long. His foot barely glanced off the tentacle, and then it wrapped itself around him like a strangling snake.
He gasped for breath, feeling the slick alien coils tighten around him. It felt so strange that he shuddered instinctively; his body was trying to cast off the intrusion.
Then he felt a sharp, lightning-fast movement, like someone running the edge of a nail over his bare skin.
When he dared to look down, he saw that the tentacle had done to him what it had done to that poor sailor. With one razor-sharp tooth from its hidden mouth, it had cut the clothes from his body.
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