A few minutes earlier, on Planet Solstica…
A MAZE OF DISTORTING MIRRORS POPULATED BY TWISTED REFLECTIONS CLOUDED IN PURPLE HAZE, such was the oneiric space Seraphina found herself trapped in.
No matter how far she ran, no matter how fast, there was no escape. The mist parted in front of her to reveal nothing but more mirrors. No matter the direction she faced, a long glass hall stretched before her.
As she fled aimlessly, grotesque phantasms hunted her down from within the mirror’s inverted world. Some had fangs, some had claws, some skipped and some crawled, some were tiny sprites, some were hunchback giants. All sported the same unchanging, eerie, too-wide grin. All wore her stolen face, stretched to inhumanity by their mad fake grin.
As she ran, pulsating eldritch runes lit the floor under her rapid bare footsteps, beating to a rhythm she failed to grasp, wriggling and forming words she could almost comprehend, whispering warped thoughts that were once hers.
In a schism of the senses, though trapped and chased by demons in a waking nightmare of her own making, Seraphina remained detachedly aware of her body. Incapable of stopping, she climbed the stairs of a mountainous edifice. The tiered pyramid was so tall it seemed impossible for mortal hands to have built it. The void-black stone veined in greasy purple lightning set Seraphina’s soul on edge, like ants crawling under her tongue and between her teeth.
This was like a cursed mountain hidden in the bowels of the world.
Her eyes, too, escaped her control. They refused to blink as they stayed nailed to the horrifying creature at the pyramid’s apex.
The orc lord.
The freakish hog-man hybrid slouched in its high-back throne, a disgusting clump of bloated muscles wrapped in fat, a mass of adipose hard flesh swollen beyond reason, the enormous horror bagged tightly in a layer of thick yet stretched rubbery skin, gleaming unnaturally.
A crimson glow rained down on the monster from the cosmic evil eye carved faraway above into the impossibly high vault of the cave. In the upper edge of Seraphina’s fixated sight, it seemed to grow with every blink, expanding when her attention slipped away as it sucked in essence from the tortured souls distended and petrified in a circle around the pyramid.
The red light reminded Seraphina of the Darkday—the time of the month when Nixe wandered in-between Solstica and the salutary sun, Caelio, plunging the world into a day-long twilight. With a sinking feeling, the saintess realised she now truly was beyond her goddess’ sight.
Instead, the porcine monstrosity stared down at Seraphina through its closed eyelids, its chubby-jowled head dipped low onto a cushion of multiple chins. It seemed like an omniscient evil titan, a tyrant god about to judge the puny mortal skittering at its hooves. It made Seraphina feel like a child in front of a malevolent angry adult, powerless and fearful of fate about to befall her, unpredictable save for its certain unpleasantness.
Between the titanic orc’s fat thighs dangled a daunting, heavy and pendulous slab of meat. It swayed softly under an unseen force—swinging left, and right, left, and right, left, and right, left, and right… It drew Seraphina in, captivated her, awakened in her a hunger like she’d never felt before. It looked so massive and powerful, evil, menacing and destructive, dangerously divine. A fuming, translucent, creamy ooze dripped continuously from the thick bulbous head, streaming viscously down the pyramid steps—like an antique depiction of some demon god’s fountain of blighted life.
Barefoot—and in fact wholly naked—Seraphina trudged semi-consciously through the warm poisonous sludge. The scalding slime squished between her toes, gentle and terrible at once, like a forceful moist erotic caress. Each step sent a mighty shudder through her body and mind.
The heat seeped up her legs. It burrowed into her nerves, bolts of wriggling lightning snaking to her nether lips, the bud at the gate, and all the way up to her achingly hard nipples. Despite herself, she hurt to be touched, manhandled, broken and made into an eager plaything.
Seraphina felt a powerful urge to drop to her knees and crawl the rest of the way up. She wanted to lick each step clean, lap the steaming stream like a bitch and drink in the gift of her new God like a god thirty pig slave until she was too full to care or think at all.
That’s not… This isn’t me! Get out of my head!!
Disgust and horror churned her gut even as lust dissolved her thoughts, her mental scream drowned in wailing moans. The nightmare labyrinth quaked with echoes. Give in… Give in… Wheezy whispers blew from deep within the fog. The writhing purple runes blazed. Mirrors cracked and shattered, then fused back together into growing urchins of sharp shards, further distorting her reflections, jagged broken edges threatening to rip her mind to shreds. Give in… The broken grins beckoned, interspersed with distant sobs and giggles. Give in… Give in… GiVE iN!
NO!! Seraphina shook her head and covered her ears. But it was useless. The voices were inside her head. She ran faster, but they gave chase. She couldn’t escape them. No one could outrun her own reflections, no matter how corrupt.
Her heart was beating like a mad drum. Each pulse shoved lusty liquid madness into her core. But she couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down, couldn’t give in. If she surrendered and drank, the ecstasy would drive her insane. A drop of this poison elixir would be all it took to turn a mortal into a slobbering pig slave, mutating their body, twisting their minds and ensnaring their souls.
Stripped of her goddess’ protection, the saintess was powerless to resist.
Already, her traitorous sex needily dripped moisture into the steaming white flow around her feet to mix with her Master’s juice in a glorious holy communion!
NOOO!!
Seraphina’s scream cracked more mirrors and pushed the mist back—but only for a heartbeat. Time reverted. The cracks mended. The smoke swelled back with a vengeance, lapping at her ankles. Give in… Shadows danced within the expanding mirrors. Their shapes shifted indistinctly, but their bright, white, wide, ubiquitous crescent grin never faltered. Give in… Give in… Giiiive innnn…
…join us…
…sweet release of madness…
…what we longed for…
…this world is mad…
…being the only sane one…
…it is exhausting…
…so tired…
…let’s rest…
…lay down…
…give in…
No, no, no!
But she could feel her resistance eroding.
A heady scent rose from the obscene stream. It infiltrated Seraphina’s brain, enveloped her thoughts like a suffocatingly comfortable blanket. Her fears were gradually muffled to sleep no matter how desperately she clung to them. Her silent prayers drifted into an uncaring void.
Ghostly hands reached up from the maze floor, trying to grab onto her ankles. Though feeble, their grips made her mental flight ever more so tricky.
Give in…
Bow to Master…
Bow to our God…
This is wrong! Seraphina tried to scream back. That thing… it is no god!
Like all monsters, the orc lord’s nature was pure violence and corruption. It would seed its contagious miasma into its victims, twist them in its own image, turn them into its slavish minions, and send them forth to do its bidding—to capture more, enslave more, corrupt more—until the entire world fell prey to its foul degeneracy and despotic influence!
But isn’t this what we wish for?
A new whisper, clearer than the rest, called above the buzz. Diaphanous arms wrapped around Seraphina’s shoulders, and plump feathery lips brushed lightly against her ear. This ghostly touch, she couldn’t shake off, and it was rapidly gaining in substance as the voice rose in strength, louder with every word that sounded eerily just like hers.
Seraphina stumbled, and more arms latched onto her, slowing her progress to a heavy crawl. Giggling spectral women drifted out of the mirrors. Each looked like an idealised and erotic sculpture of herself, painfully perfect features and disturbingly sexual bodies. Their fingers caressed and teased Seraphina, drowning her fears into a tide of confusion and lust.
Aggressive fingers dug into her aching breasts. “A vengeful god who would stomp Their Will upon the liars and the wicked, the disbelievers and the false prophets!”
Worshipful kisses trailed up her leg towards her heated core. “A glorious monarch who would suffer no spinning of their words, no compromise of their law, no selective obedience of their decrees.”
Dreamful caresses massaged her head, gliding forwards to slide along her temples, cover her eyes, and tease her lips. “A conqueror who will spread their influence to all creatures and elevate them in a union of minds, to a higher realm where none would be left ashore.”
“A strong hand to guide us out of doubt and loneliness, into certainty and belonging…” Shaky small arms ensnared her into a longing hug.
The first and most solid shade flowed like water around Seraphina. She reformed facing her, their nose touching, amethysts eyes boring into Seraphina’s sky blue ones. A broad grin stretched her thick purple mouth, splitting her uncanny perfect face as if trying to escape beyond its confines.
She leaned forward. Their lips brushed together, and Seraphina shuddered. The ghostly reflection was at once burning hotter than the sun and colder than the vacuum of space.
Isn’t this what we always prayed for? she breathed into her mouth. Blinding light bloomed within these amethysts jewels and gushed out.
For a fleeting moment, flashes of memories banished the dark mirror maze.
A little girl crouched in a dark corner of a chapel. Her blond hair was a mess, tears streaked her hollow face, and her skinny body was battered and bruised. Another day. Another beating. The other kids were bigger, tougher, more numerous. She couldn’t resist, couldn’t fight back. So she hid, huddled in a nook of the orphanage’s sanctuary, away from her bullies’ fists and jeers and the Faith sisters’ dismissive looks. Tearful, her sky blue eyes stared up at the kind face of the sun goddess sculpted into the wall. Uncomprehending of the wickedness others were capable of, the girl prayed for help.
“They hurt us.”
The scene shifted.
An adolescent novitiate sat in a stuffy library at the Faith seminary, blond hair cropped short as was proper. Dark bags underlined her sky blue eyes. Hours of study. No time for fun. No time for rest. She had an essential duty to the Goddess, her people, and the world. Yet, again and again, she was rebuked by her tutors for pointing out their hypocrisies. Shouldn’t they practise what they preached? Shouldn’t they be models of the masses? If she was the Goddess’ Chosen, why did they treat her like a naïve child whenever she denounced the sins she saw?
“They mocked us.”
The scene shifted once again.
A young woman collapsed on a thin bed in a small, stark room. Behind eyelids that struggled to remain open, her sky blue eyes betrayed the exhaustion wormed into her soul, drained from days toiling at the mercy of an ungrateful mob. Why did they know only how to demand more from her? They complained at every inconvenience she failed to miracle away. They called her wicked for begging they changed their ways. They only knew how to take her blessings—take, take, TAKE—never willing to give even crumbs back.
“They used us.”
The shadowy reflections danced around Seraphina, waving in and out of the shattered mirrors, singing questions that had plagued the saintess from the day her parents abandoned her on the orphanage steps.
Why do people do bad things?
Why does the Goddess tolerate their lies and abuses?
Are we the ones in the wrong for trying to change them?
Warm-cold plump lips brushed all over her body. Gentle caresses infected her mind. Obscene forms pressed against her from all sides, suffocating her with pleasant warmth, promising a safe resting place.
A forceful tongue penetrated her mouth, duelling hers for dominance. Those jewel eyes continued to grow closer, drawing her in.
More flashes came. All showed the same, disturbingly familiar woman. Her long mane of violet hair glittered like the stars. Her outrageous breasts and rear jiggled with every move. She wore no clothing other than a thick gold collar around her neck.
With worshipful abandon, she rubbed her nakedness against her Master’s huge and robust body, engaging blissfully in all manners of decadent fornications.
With quiet contentment, she crawled on all four behind her Master. Led on a leash, she was sure of her path and her place in the world—at peace.
Wielding bolts of purple acidic light, she struck down her Master’s enemies with ruthless glee. She forced the newly converted slaves’ faces into the muddy ground at His feet and choked the life out of any heretic who resisted. Her God looked on in pride and approval as she offered Him the severed heads of the wicked. He embraced her, and they rutted like beasts, surrounded by the Master’s crowd of the faithful.
In all the visions, the woman expression radiated with joy.
This is what we always dreamed of.
The sensual shades covered her entirely. Her will guttered.
“Yesssss,” an orgasmic hiss slithered past Vulvia’s thick, dark, moist lips. Her long eyelashes fluttered, and her amethysts eyes rolled back for a second. Then, recovering, she pushed her trembling legs up the last few steps to the top of the pyramid.
The Priestess of Doom walked onto the vast square platform. The black floor was a perfect mirror reflecting the vertiginous drop above, and Vulvia stepped atop her own inverted bare feet, floating above an abyss at the bottom of which laid the big sculpted eye.
The situation would have triggered vertigo in even the most resilient minds, but Vulvia only had eyes for one thing.
From up close, her Master’s vibrant trunk looked ever so awe-inspiring. She was almost tearful with emotions. A trembling tongue ran over her teeth and plump upper lip.
Even flaccid, Vulvia would struggle to hug the cock’s overbearing girth—counting her big boobies getting in the way. Veins as thick as her wrists spread like roots under the warty and ridged surface. And despite its fat limpness, the shaft already shuddered in rhythm with the lord’s powerful heartbeat. This led to a swollen mushroom cap surrounded by a crown of small fleshy studs.
It was enveloped in a cloud of fragrant mist, like the mystic peak of a heavenly mountain, body heat condensed by the cave’s chill air and the intoxicating effluvium from her Master’s toxic ooze.
Underneath the mighty python hung the source of this mind-melting nectar Vulvia coveted so much. Her Master’s massive balls sagged over the throne’s edge, hairless and netted tautly inside their smooth sack. Each ovoid orb outsized Vulvia’s own head. She shuddered in wonderment at how much seed they might contain.
An endless well of it, if the uninterrupted stream running down the pyramid stairs was anything to go by.
“Ohrhh, shrree isshr p,p,p,perrrrrf,f,fect!”
A voice like gargled gravel reminded Vulvia she regretably wasn’t alone with her beloved Master atop this eldritch pyramid. A white mask, sporting a black handprint, abruptly invaded her line of sight, encroaching uninvited upon her vision of greatness.
Her eyes narrowed to cut sharply into the odious interloper. Her purple irises gleamed dangerously. However, she caught the venomous scowl before it fully manifested, and instead, her face formed an insipid confused grin.
Acting skills honed over two decades of pandering to self-serving assholes now served her well. Not a sliver of her utter revulsion touched her expression, even as this knotty hunchback reached for her. Seven gloved fingers wriggled like worms towards her face, reminiscent of the Caelista worshippers who saw her as nothing but a charm to rub for good luck.
Despite the mask, she could feel the thing’s depraved eyes roaming all over her exposed body. She suddenly wished she’d brought clothes.
Her forms weren’t for vermin to enjoy.
Through Caelista’s boon, she could almost taste the duplicity and macabre desires churning inside the deformed creature, whose cloak bulged in strange places as if small animals were smuggled underneath. Of course, judging a person on their appearance was often misleading, but in this case, it seemed the cover fit the book just perfectly.
And this filthy knoblin dared covet her Master’s property?
The short horror needed to die.
“Hand, you pathetic purulent pustule.” Voice’s buttery-smooth voice cut through Vulvia’s anger. “Cease bothering the Priestess.” The man returned from wherever he’d run off while she was distracted. His gloved hands held a shallow stone bowl, black and—as per usual— covered in purple and glowing runes. By now, Vulvia was familiar enough with her tattoos to recognise at a glance the script of the Old Tongue.
Turning to face him, she was careful to keep her smile and gaze dull and empty. Voice might have opened her eyes to the TRUTH, but she didn’t trust him.
Admittedly, Vulvia trusted none but her Master.
As it should be.
The deformed cultist seemed unhappy with Voice’s invective and eructed petulantly, “It,t,t issshh ahn ahhhhrrrtist’sssshhh rrrright,t,t to ex,xammmmirrn theirrrrshhh w,worrrrshk,k,k,k!” Their enunciation made Vulvia want to gag.
“Please,” Voice drawled. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He casually shooed the hunchback aside, ignoring his associate’s evident quivering anger to address Vulvia with his usual patronising warmth. “Don’t mind Hand, my child. See them as little more than an unpleasant tool in the grand summoning of your Master’s soul. They’re harmless, truly, if a little… overzealous,” his last word rang with reproach as Voice glanced over his shoulder.
“Youss whhould,d,d n,norrt underrrrrstand…” Hand grumbled.
“Enough!” Voice abruptly snapped. “End now your pointlessly insolent facial flatulencies and fetch me the collar!” The other jumped, startled, and hobbled away fearfully, soon swallowed by the unnatural ambient darkness. “Feckless buffoon,” the illusionist muttered harshly. “My apologies, Priestess,” he pivoted back to Vulvia, his tone rich and smooth once again. “We can swiftly begin the Call, should be willing?”
“My will is the Master’s,” she answered dutifully, meaning it.
“Excellent!” the masked man praised and held the bowl to her. “Swallow this, my child. It will forge an unbreakable bond between your soul and the orc lord. Through this bond, the sacred ritual embedded into your very flesh will funnel the foul power of the pretender god, put it to actual good use, and make you into the bridge and beacon to guide the Great Master’s Avatar across time and space! Be honoured.”
Inside the container was a strangely doughy white ball, about the size of a plum, and streaked in red and—of course—purple. Vulvia palmed the pellet. Muted alarm bells immediately rang from the very bottom of her soul. She instinctively knew what the main ingredient for this ‘medicine’ was, and despite herself, she flinched.
She had been an adventurer. How could she ignore what monster semen did to people? At such concentrated potency, would there be even anything left of her to serve her Master? Despite her earlier fantasies, a blasphemously selfish part of her hoped to remain sane at least until she met her God, body and mind.
If then He wished to remake her into a mindless drooling orc whore, her heart would soar at the chance of pleasing Him. She would gladly comply.
“At peace, child.” Noticing her reflex hesitancy, Voice was quick to reassure. “Do you believe I would allow such an oversight? We thoroughly planned for this from the moment the Master’s corporal shell was selected. Your body has been tempered to resist the most deleterious effects of the miasma.”
Eyes widening a fraction, Vulvia’s mind flashed to the milky white baths she’d been taking.
How had she missed that?
Well, ultimately, it didn’t matter.
Squashing her instinctive reticence, Vulvia swallowed the squishy ball, deaf to the scream of horror echoing within her mind.
The effect was immediate. Her entire tattoo lit up at once, almost too bright to stare at, making her appear like a corrupted light elemental.
Gasping, she grabbed her belly and collapsed to her knees. Tears misted her eyes as unprecedented agony ripped across her hypersensitive body. She was burning. Cold flames burst forth deep within, consuming something vital inside her soul. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a loud moan came out. The ritual took hold of her pain and forcefully converted it to pure pleasure, imposing a never-ending orgasm upon her.
Her eyes rolled back, and her mind blanked as the icy flames happily devoured the holy power within her, using it as fuel to burn a hole through reality.
For a heartbeat, she felt the connection between her and the orc lord flare. In that instant, the monster’s bottomless hunger and endless hatred for Creation poured in like an acidic flood.
Then the link burrowed beyond, deeper within the creature, towards an immaterial gate to something more. Finally, the magic burst into a lightless void, where it finally paused, searching, waiting, beckoning, calling out to something in the heatless dark.
Vulvia came to, quivering in a puddle of her juices. Pain-pleasure still rippled through her body as her mana and life continued to be drained and poured into the void. Weekly, she sat up to look towards the throne. The orc lord was convulsing, frothing at the mouth and shaking violently within the confines of his restraints.
“Master…” she called out feebly.
She was distracted by Hand waddling back over, carrying a large, locked jewel case. Vulvia stared at it groggily, wincing intermittently. “What is that?” she wondered out loud as Hand stopped in front of them. Her vision was blurry. The rapid depletion of her mana was taking a toll on her ability to process things.
“That, my precious priestess,” Voice answered with his gaze fixated on the case, “is one of the three surviving replicas of the original Collar of Theow. A treasure of the Cult.”
Vulvia blinked. Theow. The word sounded familiar. “…A slave collar? Is it for me?” Drunken cheer crept into her voice. While it might be a little redundant, the symbolism of an actual physical collar appealed to her very much.
Voice seemed to pause. “I’m afraid not. But we can get you one later if you wish.” Then, from his collar, he pulled a silver chain on which dangled a key.
The priestess frowned. “For whom then?”
He hesitated again, finally looking down at her and scrutinising her, before nodding towards the orc lord. “For him.”
Adrenaline shot through the priestess, dragging her up on vacillating feet. “You want to collar our Master?” The only reason she wasn’t already shouting was this was so absurd she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
The illusionist waved dismissively. “Only temporarily. Incarnation is a disorienting process for a non-corporeal being. This is only to make sure the Master’s Avatar acts reasonably until he acclimates to our world. In the interval, he is vulnerable, and this world isn’t without dangers. The Dragon Whore’s chosen for one, though we provided that demon with a distraction to play with…” His voice fell to a mumble as he turned away again and unlocked the case.
Vulvia couldn’t accept what the madman was saying.
“You want to collar our Master!” she repeated, louder. She could hardly do anything else. This was madness! Absurd! Her brain ached just thinking about it, her breathing and heartbeat rapidly speeding up.
She had guessed Voice had his own twisted view on their sacred mission. But she hadn’t imagined he could possibly be demented! “You want to collar our MASTER!!” This time it came out as a shriek as she leapt to grab the traitor.
“Will you stop shouting, woman!” Voice’s hard backhand caught Vulvia across the face and threw her back to the wet floor. She cupped her aching jaw, more in shock than hurting.
The illusionist loomed over her. “You’re nothing but a child! The forces at play are more potent than you could possibly imagine! I won’t let this endeavour fail because of the whims of a broken, unfished–”
He spun and slapped the hunchback’s hand, knocking away the dagger that had been aiming at his turned back. Voice’s shoulders shook with anger. “Hand, you… deformed, lascivious, ignominious moron! DID YOU SERIOUSLY THINK THAT WOULD WORK?! YAAAH!!” With a shout, he threw his hand out. A bolt of purple lightning blasted the other cultist several yards back.
Voice adjusted his cloak and straightened, seeming to regain his self-control. “How sad.” He sighed empathically. “Had you kept your disgusting greed in check, you might have lived a couple days more.” Stepping over the dropped collar case, Voice advanced on his associate threateningly.
The hunchback recovered surprisingly quickly and tried to run away, but another arc of violet power dropped them back to the floor. Voice huffed. “Is that all you had in your puny little mind? A surprise stab when I had my back turned?” Another bolt tore a pained gargle from the fallen cultist throat. Then another. And another. Voice was apparently not as cooled down as he wanted to pretend.
Stunned by the sudden turn of events, Vulvia stared at the two cultists, then the unlocked case, and the dagger that had landed within arm’s reach in a puddle of her God’s pre-ejaculate. Then, after only a brief hesitation, she acted.
“I bet you thought yourself clever when you meddled in the metamorphosis ritual to sate your base, lecherous impulses?” Voice was monologuing icily as he continued casting purple bolts at his whimpering victim. “Even your betrayal is uninspired. So pathetic. I should have killed you weeks ag–Ugh!”
The grinning mask turned to Vulvia, who stood behind his back, her own face an emotionless mask of stone. She imagined his eyes widening behind the illusion, as he felt the steel penetrate his flesh and the mind-melting poison of her Master’s fluids spreading through his veins.
“How… could you…” he gasped. “I… made… you…”
The priestess stared where his eyes should be. A mad glint shone in hers, belying her flat expression.
“There can be only one Master.”
She pulled the knife out. Then she plunged it back in again, again, and again. She kept stabbing, drawing on her healer knowledge to cause as much damage as she could, until her strength failed and the weapon slid from her shivering grasp.
Shaking, she watched the man collapse like a puppet whose strings were cut. His illusory mask flickered out, revealing a surprisingly mundane, middle-aged face with very shocked, very dead brown eyes.
A wide grin spread across Vulvia’s perfect face, and she let out a light, happy giggle.
Movement caught her attention. Her smile fell, and her eyes lurched to the remaining cultist. “Oh no, you don’t.”
Surprisingly, Hand was still alive, and they’d managed to limp back to the collar case. Out of it, the hunchback pulled a wide, crescent-shaped and unexpectedly beautiful golden necklace. It looked nothing like any slave collar Vulvia had ever seen.
Hand froze when they noticed her. The two faced each other. The cultist’s mask twitched towards the throne, and that was all the warning Vulvia had before they bolted towards the orc lord, oddly fast despite their unsteady gait.
Shrieking, Vulvia leapt in pursuit. Her drained body wailed against the effort, but she was still faster than the awful little troll. She tackled the hunchback, kicking, clawing and screaming. One of her long nails clipped the edge of their mask and ripped it off, along with the cloak’s hood.
She froze.
Hand’s face looked like an overgrown baby with leathery skin, covered in boils and halfway melted like candle wax.
The unmasked bastard took advantage of her shock to slug her in the temple and jump away. They didn’t go far, however. A thin bolt of purple lighting came from behind Vulvia and struck their hunch. They went down with a gasp.
The priestess’ head snapped back, gaping in horror as she spotted Voice dragging himself towards them at the sole strength of his arms. His legs trailed uselessly behind him. His gaze remained dead vacant, but a hateful rictus distorted his mouth.
“I… won’t… let you… ruin… everything…” he rasped in a dry, scathing voice, which lacked any of its usual smooth, rich, and hypnotic undertones.
Vulvia’s head switched between the two cultists. Already back to their feet, Hand continued to race haphazardly towards the throne, clutching the necklace. “I said NO!!” she growled and scampered after them like a feral beast. She caught up with them by the orc lord’s hooves.
A short brawl ensued as she and the deformed creature fought over the necklace.
That came abruptly to an end when an intelligible earthquake rumbled from above them.
“What did I do to you? Piss off.”
Trembling, Vulvia looked up and was instantly blinded.
Through the link burrowed deep into her soul, she saw the once cold emptiness at the other end was now filled by a mass of roaring fire too vast for her sense to apprehend. The orange flames felt disturbingly familiar, but underneath, vicious liquid darkness lurked, barely contained by the immeasurable burning cage. And then, deeper still, laid a hard core whose nature eluded her.
Before her mind could be set aflame by the divinely potent energies, she was knocked back to consciousness by a roar overflowing with world-shaking rage. Blinking, she regained her sight just in time to witness a purple titan step over her in chase of a fleeing hunchback... and, in passing, squashing Voice under His hoof.
The (perhaps) undead illusionist only had time to look comically stunned by this turn of events before getting unceremoniously squished to a gory paste.
Warm tears pearled at the corners of Vulvia’s eyes as she brought her hands to her chest. She smiled.
“Master… You’re here.”
. . .
Yey, praise the celestial bimbos and their be-tentacled goat lovers or w/e the pantheon looks like! A big girthy chapter for the holidays <3
Thanks for the chapter