The room, once a haven of intimacy for Elara and me, is now transformed into an obscene nursery. My head swims, every breath I take filled with Snib’s musky scent, intensifying the unnatural haze clouding my thoughts. The goblin’s ever-present pheromones make everything feel hyper-sensitive, from the feeling of the soft sheets beneath me to the rough pull on my massive, engorged tits.

I look down, watching in a mix of horror and unwanted pleasure, as two of my monstrously large goblin offspring greedily suckle at my teats. They're alarmingly big, almost the size of a human toddler. Their skin is a mottled green, their little fingers rough and grippy, clenching onto the vast expanse of my breasts, manipulating and kneading the flesh in their insistent demand for milk. It’s bizarre how mature they seem, their yellow eyes glaring up at me, almost in defiance as they drink. I can feel every pull, every tug, the flow of milk surging from me in amounts I never thought possible. I can't help but moan softly with every forceful latch.

Beside me, Elara is in a similar state, though one of my more domineering offspring has taken over one of her breasts, leaving her own two goblin children to fight over her remaining nipple. The sight of my former wife, now transformed, feeding these creatures, her once-proud face flushed with the same mixture of humiliation and perverse pleasure I feel, is deeply unsettling.

Zephyrion stands to the side, his gaze not on the obscene sight of our nursing, but intently focused on the cursed collar snugly wrapped around my neck. There's an air of concentration about him, as if he's piecing together some complex puzzle. Snib, in stark contrast, is reveling in the scene, his massive, veiny goblin cock bulging under his loincloth, the tip dripping with precum. He grins, his yellow eyes darting between Elara and me, clearly enjoying our debasement.

Elara and I moan in tandem, our voices filled with a mix of pain and unwanted ecstasy. The sensation is overwhelming, a never-ending flow of milk, the forceful latching and sucking of the goblin whelps driving us deeper into the hazy fog. My tits jiggle with every movement, the weight of the milk and the insistent pulling feeling both painful and obscenely pleasurable.

Finally, Zephyrion breaks his contemplative silence. "The act of nursing... it's feeding the collar's energy," he muses.

His words bring a fresh wave of helpless horror, realizing that every drop of milk being drawn from us is fueling whatever twisted plan he has.

As the goblin whelps' insistent feeding continues, my breasts start to feel sore, the sensation of being drained becoming more pronounced. "Their milk supply is dwindling," Zephyrion observes.

The smirk on Snib's face broadens, his yellow eyes glinting with mischief. "Looks like ya need a bit of replenishing, don't ya?" He chuckles, that gruff goblin accent making the room feel smaller.

With the goblin pups whisked away by the midwives, and Zephyrion's cold exit, there's an eerie silence that descends. That is, until the grunting of the goblin takes over.

He quickly scrambles onto the bed, making it creak under his surprisingly heavy weight for such a small creature. Without ceremony, he pushes aside his loincloth, revealing his massive, throbbing green cock. It's slick with precum, the purple tip glistening in the dim light of the room. The smell of his arousal is overpowering, even more pungent than his usual musk.

Elara, despite her obvious exhaustion, is unable to resist the biological urges Snib's pheromones incite. She opens her mouth, her sapphire blue eyes wide but foggy, as the goblin pushes his cock into her mouth. It's a perverse echo of how she had been nursing the goblin pups just moments ago.

Driven by Snib's orders, her hand wraps around the base of his shaft, pumping rhythmically as she suckles on the head. The obscene squelching noises fill the room, making my stomach churn with a mix of repulsion and a dreadful arousal. I can't look away. It's as if I'm trapped in this hazy dream where everything is just sensations and foggy visions.

Feeling Snib's pheromones so intensely, the sight before me becomes a blur of green and auburn. The pull of my own biological needs grows stronger, the collar's influence and the goblin's musk making it nearly impossible to focus on anything but the debauched scene playing out before me.

Every suck, every moan from Elara, every grunt from Snib, sends a jolt of unwanted pleasure through me. My own body betrays me, responding to the tableau of degradation. Snib's laughter rings in my ears, his enjoyment of our debasement evident.

The grubby hands of Snib tighten in Elara's auburn hair, holding her in place as his fat, green cock twitches in her mouth. My mossy green eyes can't tear away from the horrifying scene, the grotesque play of muscles in Snib's pudgy belly as he tenses and releases with each spurt. My heart races, the sound of it thumping in my ears drowns out all but the lewd noises in front of me.

"Take it all, you busty wench!" Snib grunts in that rough goblin accent of his.

Elara's eyes, those beautiful sapphire blue orbs, roll back in her head. Her moans become muffled, yet more passionate with each thick rope of goblin cum he unloads into her mouth. The amount is staggering. It’s hard not to wince seeing Elara struggle, gulping down the off-white, almost curdled-looking mess. It drips from the corners of her lips, down her chin, staining her pale skin with Snib's seed. Every swallow, every gulp is visible in the stretch and bob of her throat. I can only imagine the bitter taste, the thick texture. The sheer volume must be overwhelming.

"Hah! Look at her go!" Snib squeals, a touch of wicked glee evident in his voice. He's enjoying every second of Elara's degradation, and it's clear he's doing it as much for his pleasure as for my torment.

Lying here, on the other side of the bed, the weight of my own massive breasts pulls at my chest. They feel oddly empty, the previously heavy milk reserves now depleted from the constant demands of the goblin pups. The skin feels stretched, sore from where they've suckled, nipples tender to even the faint brush of the sheets. But the absence of their weight, the feeling of being drained, is a stark contrast to the fullness they had just yesterday. The sensation is almost ghostly - the memory of their heaviness, the pull of the goblin pups latching on, still fresh in my mind.

The bed creaks as Snib hops down, leaving Elara in her cum-induced stupor, a few trickles of his seed sliding down the curve of her chin. Her cheeks flush a deep shade of red, a post-orgasmic glow that contrasts starkly against her creamy complexion. Each ragged breath lifts her swollen, drained breasts slightly, and with each exhale, they fall again, reflecting the intensity of her recent ordeal.

I too feel trapped in a swirling fog of pheromones, Snib's scent overpowering, almost sickly sweet. I’m so used to it by now. That, combined with the post-birth hormones, wreak total havoc on my senses. I feel raw, exposed, my body's recent ordeal of bringing five goblin pups into the world a constant ache in my loins, a soreness deep within. The weight of my breasts, like Elara's, feels oddly empty, but there's a lingering tenderness that makes me hyper-aware of every shift in the sheets, every whisper of air.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Snib's raspy voice cuts through the haze, "Now it's cow-tits' turn!" My heart lurches in my chest. I barely have a moment to react before the fat, veiny length of his cock presses insistently against my lips. I can feel it pulsating, growing harder by the second, its heat almost scalding against the sensitive flesh of my mouth.

As I reach up to encircle its girth, my fingers barely touch. The sheer size of it is always daunting. I gaze upwards, seeking Snib's yellow eyes, but his head is thrown back in ecstasy.

Beside us, Elara moans weakly, her once fierce sapphire eyes now even more glazed and distant. Each gulp has made her more and more pliant, more... submissive.

The weighty, engorged goblin cock throbs in my hands, its slick surface growing hotter with each pump. That aroma, powerful and uniquely him, has become a constant reminder of his dominance over us. With each tug, I can feel the silky, greasy texture of its skin against my fingers, its veiny girth pulsating in rhythm with Snib's eager breaths.

But then, a sudden memory flashes into my mind, piercing the lustful haze that's been clouding my judgment: Master Fendril's Moonshade potion! He had instructed me, with grave emphasis, to start consuming it as soon as I was no longer pregnant. Panic wells up within me, intertwining with the heavy arousal that's consumed my body.

I hesitate for just a moment, but for Snib, a moment is all it takes. With a growl of impatience, he grasps my head and pushes his thick length into my mouth, the drooling purple tip diving deeper between my thick lips. My eyes widen in surprise and a muffled sound of protest rises from the back of my throat, but it's quickly stifled by the fullness of him.

His rhythm is punishing, the squelching of his fat cock in my mouth a lewd soundtrack to the scene. Desperation and pleasure war within me as Snib's heavy cockhead nudges the back of my throat with each thrust. I can taste his impending release - bitter, salty, and overwhelmingly pungent, laced with the telltale tang of goblin pheromones that make my head swim.

Then, Snib's whole body tenses, and a rush of hot, potent goblin cum bursts forth. The force is always astonishing, every spurt feeling like a tidal wave filling my mouth. I struggle to keep up, each gulp a challenge as the thick, ropey strands of sperm slide heavily down my throat. The taste is pungent. But ever since the pregnancy, there's been an underlying sweetness that I am convinced by taste buds are  inventing. It coats my mouth, my throat, settling heavy in my stomach. With each gulp, a new rush of warmth spreads through me, the pheromone-laden goblin cum doing its work.

I can feel it, the way the goblin seed invigorates my body, the way it rekindles the burning desire within me, and the way it stimulates my milk production, replenishing what's been taken. The world around me becomes even more hazy, more blurred by the overwhelming sensations brought on by Snib's powerful release.

Through the fog, Snib's rough laughter breaks into my thoughts, his raspy voice dripping with satisfaction.

—

The world spins as I stagger down the stairs, each jolt sending sharp pains through my overburdened body. My tits, swollen to an unbearable size and leaking milk, sway heavily with each step, their weight pulling my chest forward, the slight movement causing pangs of pain from the bite marks and scratches that mar them. The pups had been ravenous, latching onto my nipples with a ferocity I wasn't prepared for. They gnawed, sucked, and pulled without a care for the body they were attached to. My once-pink nipples are now a deep shade of purple, swollen and engorged with milk, while the surrounding skin is littered with marks from their sharp little teeth.

The gown I'm in, generously provided by the midwives, hangs loosely around my recovering body. It's a soft, flowing material, cut in a way to accommodate my ever-burgeoning chest and to make nursing more accessible. The gown, even though soft, grazes against my tender breasts, making me wince with each step. My hips, still wide and sore from giving birth, sway with a rhythm of their own. My thighs, as soft and curvaceous as ever, rub together with each step, generating a warmth I neither need nor desire at the moment.

The kitchen looms before me, looking far more gobliny than it used to. Utensils and ingredients are haphazardly strewn about, a testament to the disorderly life Snib has forced upon us. Dust and filth coat the countertops, the once immaculate space tarnished by neglect. I can't remember the last time I saw the shimmering silverware and polished wooden bowls in their proper places. The memory of our immaculate kitchen, kept perfectly organized, is distant.

Desperation fuels my search for the Moonshade. I rifle through the drawers, my fingers trembling, nails scratching the wooden surfaces. I need it. I have to find it. I've hid it somewhere, and with every passing second, my hope dwindles.

Memories flood my mind - it was a few weeks ago, Snib was distracted by Elara's supple body, and I had a moment alone. I remember stashing it... but where? In the haze of arousal and subjugation, I had forgotten. The scent of jasmine fills my nose, my own bewitched biology reminding me of what I've become.

Then, finally, I find it.

Behind the stack of filthy goblets and underneath a ragged dishcloth, my fingers brush against the smooth vial. My heart leaps as I pull out the small, glittering aqua vial of Moonshade. The precious antidote, gleaming with hope. Without hesitating, I unscrew the cap, bringing the vial to my thick, feminine lips, and swallow a few drops.

A cool, minty sensation rushes down my throat, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. I can breathe, the haze lifts a little, clarity returning. I hold the vial close, a small beacon of hope amidst a life of subjugation.

Next, I return to our bedroom.

The chilling darkness of the room feels stifling. The creak of the wooden floor beneath my foot echoes louder than intended. Every step feels like I'm dancing on the edge of a blade, balancing between saving Elara and the jaws of a trap set by Snib.

As I reach the edge of the bed, the dim light from the moon seeps through the curtains, revealing the grotesque scene before me. The vile goblin has his fat, flaccid cock casually draped over Elara's slender leg, a perverse mark of ownership. His grotesque form snuggles against my beautiful wife, their bodies meshed together in a mockery of intimacy. The sight makes my heart pound, a combination of dread, disgust, and jealousy.

Quietly, ever so quietly, I unscrew the vial. Its faint glow lights up the tiny space around it, casting eerie, dancing shadows. My massive breasts sway heavily as I lean forward, brushing softly against the sheets. The movement nearly causes the vial to slip from my fingers. My heart stops. But it remains clutched in my sweaty palm.

My gaze flits to Snib, ensuring he hasn’t stirred. I curse these damned breasts of mine, always in the way, and my former self for the curse that placed them upon me.

I'm inches away from Elara, her soft lips slightly parted in slumber. I've seen those lips laugh, cry, and kiss. Now, they need to swallow the Moonshade.

With shaking hands, I drip a few drops into Elara's mouth, praying it’s enough to free her mind. As the last droplet leaves the vial, Elara stirs, her eyelids fluttering. Panic swells in my chest. I freeze, tits still dangling, eyes locked on her. A soft moan escapes her lips, and for a moment, I think she's waking. But it's just a simple shift in her dream state, and her breathing remains even.

However, the soft shuffle of Snib's feet draws my attention. He murmurs something incomprehensible, stirring slightly. I feel like a trapped animal, my heart thundering so loudly I'm sure it will give me away. But after what feels like an eternity, his breathing steadies, and his grotesque form stills.

The immediate danger passed, I slowly, so slowly, move back, careful not to let my ample body give away my position. My tits, heavy and pendulous, sway with my motion but thankfully don't catch on anything.

Once I'm sure I've retreated enough, I slide into my spot on the bed, laying down on the opposite side from the grotesque duo. My mind races, trying to calm my raging heart. I pray to any god listening that the Moonshade works its magic on Elara, that by morning she will see Snib for the monster he truly is.

I tuck the vial back under my pillow. We’ll need another dose in the morning.

The fatigue of the ordeal and the mental strain wrap around me, pulling me under. I can't fight the pull of sleep any longer, and I drift off, hoping for a better tomorrow.

— 

I draw in a shaky breath, my body feeling less hazy than it has in days. I feel the familiar weight of my milky tits pressing against the soft cotton of my gown, but my heart feels so much lighter. My mind is clearer. Not totally free of the pheromones, but getting there.

I turn slightly to my side, trying to get a better look at Elara who's resting beside me. My heart sinks when I realize Snib sandwiched between us. His grotesque, pudgy form is a stark contrast to our feminine curves, and the bulging outline of his fat goblin cock under his loincloth remains unmistakably evident.

Now, with the cum-drunk fog lifting, I see what a disgusting little wretch he is. And hopefully my wife will too.

The sunlight filtering through the window illuminates the room. I can hear the distant, hungry squeals of our goblin pups coming from upstairs. As much as I want to block out their sounds, I can't. My own body betrays me as I feel a dampness forming around my nipples, milk soaking the front of my gown.

“Ugh,” I groan.

I glance at Elara, her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her breathing. Her eyes flutter open, immediately locking with mine. Her nostrils flaring.

"Elise," she whispers, her voice trembling, "Are you...?"

"Yes, Elara," I nod, trying to hold back tears. "The haze... it's gone."

The squeals from the goblin pups grow louder. A nagging urge to feed them pulses within me, but my newfound clarity battles that urge. I don't want to nurse them. Neither does Elara.

Snib groggily awakens, yawning wide. "Mornin', cow tits," he smirks, groping at my breast without any hesitation. I recoil, and his hand finds empty air. His yellow eyes narrow suspiciously, glancing between Elara and me.

Elara, gently pushing herself to sit up, brushes off Snib's hand as he tries to caress her face. "Don't touch me," she says with a steadiness I've not heard in a while.

Snib's face contorts into a confused sneer. "Oi, what's gotten into you, sugar tits? Ain't ya gonna be my good girl?"

"I am no one's 'good girl,' especially not yours," Elara retorts, her sapphire eyes blazing with a fire I'd thought had been extinguished.

Snib's laughter rings out, loud and mocking, but the surprise in his gaze is undeniable. "You think you're free of me? Look at her," he jabs a dirty finger toward my collar, reminding me of the ever-present threat, "that collar still works, you know. One squeeze and she's done for."

Elara's defiant gaze softens momentarily, concern for me evident in her eyes. She leans closer to Snib, her voice dripping with venom. "Remember, Snib, you might have your toys, but you need us just as much as you think we need you. If Elise dies, you die.”

With a grunt, Snib jumps off the bed, adjusting his swollen loincloth. "Enjoy your little moment of rebellion," he spits, stalking off toward the kitchen, “it’s not gonna last."

As soon as the door slams shut, Elara’s strength crumbles. Tears stream down her face, and I quickly pull her into a tight embrace, our milky breasts pressing together, a warm wetness seeping through our gowns.

For a while, we lie side by side, the weight of reality pressing down on us as the muffled cries of the goblin offspring pierce the room. We ignore them.

"How in Acheron did we end up like this?” I whisper, my voice choked.

Pulling her close, I feel the dampness of her cheeks as they brush against mine. "I thought my first child would be yours, Aldric," Elara murmurs, her voice trembling with pain. Her body is still recovering, still showing the evidence of our shared horror. “Not some… monster.”

My heart cracks at her words. "I'm so sorry, Elara." Words fail me, the remorse deep. Our baby, the one we could've had, never got the chance to live.

I fish out the Moonshade vial from under the pillow. "We need to take this," I say, presenting it to her. "Master Fendril said it's a safeguard against Snib's pheromones. We won't fall victim to his influence as easily."

She eyes it warily but nods, determination flashing in her eyes. We down the contents, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. It feels like a tiny beacon of hope in our hellish existence.

Elara clutches my hand, her nails digging into my skin, seeking some semblance of comfort. "Promise me," she pleads, blue eyes raw with emotion, "Promise me we'll find a way to end Snib. For us, for our lost child."

A surge of anger wells up inside me, drowning out the residual influence of the collar around my neck. "I swear, Elara," I hiss, "Snib will pay for everything."

Our fingers intertwine, two souls bound together in the face of despair, in the aftermath of unspeakable horror. Our combined pain and fury is a force to be reckoned with, and together, we renew our vows to each other and our resolve to put an end to our tormentor.

The weight of the realization, the depth of our shared desperation, acts like a bolt of lightning, sending a jolt through my body. "Why don't we kill the goblin whelps?" The words pour out of me in a harsh whisper, a mad idea that feels both horrifying and tantalizingly freeing.

Elara's eyes widen in shock. "But won't your collar trigger? It could kill you!"

In this moment, a fiery anger swells within me. The raw emotion surpasses the fear of the collar's consequences. "It only protects him,” I assume, jaw set with determination. “Besides, I’d rather take that risk than let those abominations live."

I storm into what once was Aldric's weapons closet, the dusty scent of old metal and leather stinging my nose. My eyes land on Whisperwind, the blade once hailed as Aldric's legendary partner in countless battles. But it’s the potion shelf that draws my immediate attention. Bottles of varying colors and sizes sit in the dim light. My fingers trail over the vials, feeling the familiar shape of a bottle that promises a silent, slow agony. Nighthusk Venom - a poison made from gutworms. A mere drop can bring days of suffering. A few drops, moreso.

An entire bottle, moreso.

I grab the bottle and make my way back to Elara. Her eyes widen as she recognizes the deadly liquid. "A slow death," I explain with a smirk, "They will suffer for every ounce of pain they've caused us."

Without hesitation, I move to the crate where the goblin offspring squirm and shriek. The scent of fresh milk sends them into a tizzy. I can feel their tiny, eager hands pawing at the fabric of my maternity dress. With a swift motion, I open the dress, revealing my engorged breasts. Their grotesque faces twist in a blend of hunger and desperation, clawing at each other for a chance to latch on.

The bottle's mouth hovers over my chest. The thick, black venom drips lazily, mingling with the milk that beads at the tip. As the first goblin latches on, eagerly gulping down the tainted nourishment, a perverse satisfaction washes over me. The sensation of their eager mouths suckling at me, the insistent tug, the contrasting coolness of the venom against the warmth of my milk - it's a sensation of power, of control. I've turned the very thing that made me vulnerable into a weapon.

Elara, not to be left out, follows suit, her laughter filling the room with a dark mirth. "Drink up, little monsters," she taunts, as she too drips the venom onto her chest.

Together, we watch as all five goblin pups greedily ingest their final meal. The weight of what we've done hangs heavily in the air. Yet the collar remains silent, its influence dormant for now.

The dread and despair that once held us captive replaced, for the moment, with a deliciously dark sense of triumph.

—

Through the thick wooden doors, I hear the thunderous echo of Snib’s voice before we even step into the chamber. "Oi, wizard! Ye promised their safety!"

My heart pounds in my chest. There’s no doubt in my mind about what he's referring to. We’re only just recovering from our frenzied lust, and now this. One problem after another.

I cautiously enter the room, with Elara by my side, clutching her hand tightly for support. Zephyrion stands ahead, his tall frame outlined by the chamber’s torchlight, and those stormy grey eyes immediately fixate on us.

The room feels charged, tension crackling like an approaching storm. Snib stands there, his green face flushed with anger, his fat goblin cock swinging around aggressively, clearly agitated, bulging visibly under his loincloth. "They killed 'em! They killed my pups!" he screams, pointing one stubby finger accusingly at Elara and me.

The wizard’s gaze pierces through us. "Is this true?" he asks in that quiet, yet forceful tone of his.

I shake my head, glancing at Elara, "The whelps just... fell ill," I mutter. "They were weak and just... stopped breathing. We didn’t do anything."

Before I could react, I feel a sharp sting on my ass as Snib slaps it hard. The sensation reverberates through my body, making my voluptuous frame quiver. A mixture of pain and shame shoots up my spine, but a perverse sense of pleasure causes a smirk to tug at my lips. The stinging heat remains, even as the initial pain fades.

"Enough!" Zephyrion's voice slices through the room, causing even Snib to pause. "You forget your place, goblin."

I glance at Snib, waiting for him to explode in further anger, but instead, he glares at Zephyrion. "They been actin' all uppity since yesterday. Like they ain't affected by my scent no more."

Zephyrion narrows his eyes, and the room goes silent. "Moonshade," he says coolly.

Snib's beady eyes widen. "But you said... You promised there'd be no more of that potion left in Eboncrest!"

The wizard remains impassive, though something calculating passes over his features. "It seems they had... help," he muses, casting a long, thoughtful look our way. The weight of those eyes causes my heart to race, and a chill runs down my spine.

The high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek of Snib makes my head swim, and all too suddenly, I feel the cursed metal collar tightening around my throat. The pressure builds, and I gasp, my hands clutching at the unyielding collar. It's getting harder and harder to breathe. Panicking, I stagger, my vision blurring. The world swims in and out of focus. The jiggling of my massive breasts feels exaggerated, the weight pulling me down further as I stumble to my knees.

Zephyrion, cold as the winter winds, regards Snib with a disdainful look. His stormy grey eyes narrow. "There is a unique torment I've often used on the Serrans, a particularly... exquisite method of prolonged suffering," he starts, his voice dripping with ice. "It involves the spiraling extraction of a victim's essence, slowly unraveling their very soul strand by strand, as their physical body deteriorates in tandem. By the end of it, after days of unyielding torment, the victim is left an empty husk, their spirit shattered, and their body decayed."

As he speaks, he raises his hand, and the air around us begins to thicken, charged with raw, terrifying magic. The very air seems to crackle and spark. With a flick of his fingers, a minuscule vortex, a miniature storm of black and blue, appears before him. The swirling vortex is alive, its energies pulsating and beckoning, pulling at my very core. The demonstration of such a horrific technique chills me to the bone.

"The collar," Zephyrion's voice drops even lower, every word deliberate, "is a partially intelligent artifact. It senses threats, and I suggest it perceives the gravity of my words very clearly." He pauses, letting the weight of his threat hang in the charged air, "You'd do well to remember, Snib, I've put too much at stake with this artifact to let it be ruined by the tantrums of a little green freak.”

It's like a switch flips. Slowly, blessedly, the metal collar loosens. I drag in deep, desperate breaths, my body shuddering with each inhale. The jiggling of my rack, my udders, becomes a secondary concern, overshadowed by the overwhelming relief of oxygen filling my lungs.

Zephyrion's mouth curls up in the barest hint of a smile, the satisfaction evident in his gaze. "Predictable," he murmurs. "But given the breaking of the maternal bond, and the possible presence of Moonshade," his stormy eyes flit to me, suspicion clouding their depths, "it seems we must expedite our plans."

Snib's yellow eyes widen in horror. "Wha'?! But—"

"Silence," Zephyrion commands, and the room immediately grows colder, "We leave for Ironrock today. My scholars have been working diligently to uncover the ancient sanctum there, and it's time we made use of it."

“What about me protection?!" Snib protests.

Zephyrion's reply is calculated, offering the goblin no room for argument. "You will remain under my protection, even after this is over. As long as you keep your temper in check."

The wizard’s face when he lies, are indistinguishable from when he tells the truth.

Snib, seething with suppressed rage, finally just turns on his heel and stalks out of the room. His heavy footfalls echoing off the stone floors.

Then, Zephyrion shifts his focus to Elara and me, the weight of his gaze making my spine stiffen. "I understand what you've done," he says softly, but there's a cold edge to his words that makes me shiver, "and you've made a grievous error."

He speaks a command. In march royal guards, their armor gleaming and flashing in the dim light, their expressions stone-cold. They stand ready, awaiting their orders.

"Prepare them for the journey," Zephyrion orders, his attention already moving on to the next pressing matter.

—

The cobblestone streets of Eboncrest thrum beneath the hooves of our horses, each beat echoing the heavy dread knotting my stomach. Every step forward feels like a march towards an inevitable, dark fate. The soft, pungent scent of pine needles fills my nostrils, a cruel contrast to the suffocating tension hanging in the air.

"Where're ya headed, Elise?" Garrett's booming voice cuts through the ambient noise. The Eboncrest guard - Aldric’s longtime friend - jogs alongside, eyes wide, bushy beard bouncing with each stride.

"To Ironrock," I manage, my voice strained. A crow overhead releases a solitary, mocking caw, the sound chilling and foreboding. “To where it all began.”

Zephyrion, regal in his indigo robes, rides at the head of this grim parade, a look of purpose and dark intent etched onto his features. His stormy grey eyes scan the horizon, unyielding and distant. Directly behind him, royal guards, their armor glistening in the sunlight, make a formidable sight. Sunlight dances off their polished helmets and shimmering breastplates, creating a dazzling, yet intimidating display. Among them, archaeologists clutch scrolls and satchels, deep in whispered conversation.

Elara, on her horse, looks as tense as I feel. Our matching leather armor hugs our post-pregnancy figures, a reminder of the ordeal we've endured. The gentle trotting of my steed causes my ample chest to sway and jiggle. Each bump in the road sends shivers through my body, not of pleasure, but of trepidation.

As we pass through Eboncrest, townsfolk gather. Faces etched in worry peer from windows, doorways, and market stalls. Children halt their play to watch the procession, eyes wide and questioning. They can sense the magnitude of our journey, even if they don't understand it.

"Hold!" Mayor Bramble's voice rings out, and the procession comes to a sudden halt. He steps forward, his face a mask of fury. "Zephyrion, I've been told what you're planning. This... this is madness! This is not what we agreed!”

Zephyrion tilts his head, regarding the mayor with a cold detachment. "It's what's necessary for Valaria, Bramble. The war against Sirath demands it."

"You're toying with forces you can't comprehend! Awakening Maraan will bring ruin upon us all," Bramble spits, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

Zephyrion's response is a slow, sinister smile. "Power always demands sacrifice, Mayor. And I'm willing to make it. You will be rewarded for Eboncrest’s contributions.”

With that, he spurs his horse forward, the procession resuming its somber march. I exchange a glance with Elara, the weight of our journey pressing down upon us.

The gates of Eboncrest groan in the wind as we pass through them, leaving behind the security of the town walls. Ahead lies the wild expanse, the dense pine forest beckoning us with a mix of wonder and menace. The gentle rustling of the pine needles overhead whispers secrets of ancient times, while the deep shadows between the trees hint at the mysteries they conceal.

Jarkrond's hooves, beneath Snib's weight, sound oddly muffled on the forest floor. The goblin, usually full of lewd comments and wicked grins, remains eerily silent. His sharp, beady eyes dart around, scanning the woods as if expecting them to reveal their secrets.

Beside me, Elara's face is a tapestry of emotions. She pulls her horse closer to mine, her sapphire eyes, always full of fire, now hold a fragile glint of vulnerability. "Elise," she begins, voice trembling, "despite the twisted reality we’ve endured, the life we've shared... Clearly the gods are against us. Nevertheless, these stolen moments of happiness through our lives… they've meant everything." She pauses, gulping back emotion. "If this is where our lives end, just know that I cherish every last second with you."

I fight back tears. I don’t deserve her kindness after what has happened, but something of our bond has survived it all. I need to protect her, at all costs.

The forest grows denser, and the path narrows, winding its way through the towering pines. Hours pass, but the ominous weight in the air makes it feel like an eternity. As we continue, the woods gradually give way to a clearing, revealing the gaping maw of Ironrock Mine.

Before the mine entrance, I see evidence of the ongoing excavation. Crates upon crates of unearthed artifacts litter the area. K'tarran stones, with their distinct dark hue and eerie glow, are stacked methodically. The intricate carvings on some depict grotesque figures, twisted in pain or perhaps ecstasy. There's an oppressive energy emanating from them, chilling the air and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Archaeologists, in deep conversation, hover around certain finds, their hands gesturing wildly as they debate the meanings of the relics. Their robes are splattered with dirt, their faces alight with the frenzied excitement of discovery.

Yet, amidst the academic fervor, a looming dread is palpable. The very earth seems to groan beneath the weight of the K'tarran secrets being dragged to the surface.

Zephyrion, his eyes brighter than ever, surveys the scene. Every artifact, every carving, seems to draw him in deeper, fueling his insatiable hunger for power and knowledge. And as we dismount, preparing to delve into the mine's depths, the darkness ahead seems all the more foreboding, whispering promises of revelations that Zaelasia might be better off not knowing.

My heart races. I can feel the cold, hard metal of the collar biting into my neck.

The wizard turns to address his men, and his eyes – cold and determined – settle on me for a brief moment.

"Men and women of the crown, and keepers of history, today is the culmination of our hard work, of our sacrifices. You have all followed me loyally, believing in our cause, and today that belief will be rewarded. The temple deep within this mine holds a force that has been dormant for too long. The ancient god, Maraan, has slept in shadow, but with the arcanameter's power, and the unique connection between this goblin and Elise, we have the means to awaken this deity."

I can't help but shiver, thinking about what we are going to see down there. The weight of his words is heavy, pressing down on me, and I can feel the gazes of his soldiers on me, as well.

He continues, "Elise, I recognize the trials you've endured, the humiliation and pain, all to be here at this pivotal moment." Zephyrion’s eyes lock onto mine, a chilling smile on his lips. "Your suffering, Aldric’s transformation, your strength; none of it will have been in vain. Our world is on the precipice of change, and all that you've endured will be but a small price for the greatness that is to come."

Swallowing hard, every fiber of my being wants to scream, to shout, to rebel against this monstrous man and his grand plan.

But now is not the time.

The transition from daylight to the oppressive shadow of Ironrock Mine's entrance feels immediate and smothering. Torches are quickly lit, casting a flickering amber hue over the assembly. It dances hesitantly upon the rocky walls, revealing the traces of the past. Here and there, rusted tools lay abandoned, a testament to the desperate hunt for ore and the riches it promised. Yet, as we move deeper, the remnants of Aldric's quest emerge, shattered goblin weaponry, and worn pathways, leading to the ancient tunnels I remember so vividly.

I glance over at Elara, her auburn hair cascading down, glinting with firelight. We’re both wrapped in tailored armor, painstakingly designed by Zephyrion's personal craftsman. My outfit clings to every curve, crafted for my… unique shape. The leather hugs my form, its straps crisscrossing my back, offering the support my heavy breasts desperately need. It's strange; the armor's designed not just for protection, but for comfort, each piece meticulously placed to ensure nothing jiggles excessively. It makes me realize that, for all Zephyrion's evils, he understands the necessity of keeping his 'assets' safe.

A sensation of constriction reminds me of the bandage beneath my armor, wrapped tightly around my post-pregnancy stomach by the skilled hands of midwives. The wrapping helps, offering some support to muscles still recovering from the trauma of birthing goblin spawn, an unnatural process that left both physical and emotional scars.

Elara carries herself with the grace and elegance one would expect of a queen, even if her kingdom has been usurped. She still has such beauty and poise, despite all we’ve endured.

Behind us, I can hear the slithering shuffle of Snib's footsteps. I resist the urge to glance back but can feel his grotesque gaze leering at my ass. It's a small reminder of the humiliations we've been subjected to, but today, I hold my head high, refusing to let his presence dominate my thoughts.

The air grows colder, denser. Sounds seem muffled, every footstep echoing back at us in the tight confines of the passage. The further we go, the clearer the signs become of Zephyrion's intentions. Recent dig sites appear sporadically, and the scattered detritus of recent excavation activity lies all around. Piles of freshly unearthed rubble are a stark contrast to the ancient, foreboding tunnels they've revealed. The whispers of long-dead souls seem to cling to the air, a mournful chorus warning of the dark secrets that lay dormant below.

A heavy sense of anticipation builds with each step. This isn't just a mine; it's a descent into a forgotten realm, a journey into the very heart of ancient darkness. The weight of centuries of history, of hidden rituals and slumbering deities, presses down on us, urging us to turn back, but we press on, determined, fearful, but resolute in the face of the looming unknown.

The oppressive gloom of the mine suddenly gives way, revealing a cavern so vast and ancient that it feels like stepping into the belly of the world. The very air feels thick, laden with ancient whispers and the weight of time. The ceiling of the colossal cavern is draped with countless stalactites, dripping with the tears of epochs. The sheer vastness swallows all light, turning the vast space into a maw of shadows.

Everywhere, dead relics of the K'Tarrans sprawl – monolithic structures, defying the ages, holding the secrets of a civilization that breathed its last millennia ago. Skeletal frameworks of incomplete excavations can be seen, the modern world attempting to pierce the veil of the ancient. Tattered tents, tools, and half-etched notes betray the hasty endeavors of archaeologists, trying to decipher the hieroglyphs and the cryptic tales etched in stone.

The pathway, illuminated by our torches, leads us into the very heart of this cavernous realm, revealing an underground temple of staggering proportions. Great pillars, etched with grotesque figures and symbols, rise from the ground, disappearing into the encompassing darkness above. There's an uncomfortable sensation, an uncanny feeling that the very stones and statues watch our every move.

As we venture deeper, the grotesque statues become more pronounced, depicting beings of indescribable horror, their forms twisting and merging in impossible ways. The temple structure feels alive in its malevolence, demanding reverence and instilling fear.

Before us stands the monolithic statue, its scale dwarfing everything around it. Obsidian black and shimmering in the dim torchlight, it seems less carved from stone and more like a living entity momentarily frozen in time. The entity's face, if it can be termed as such, is an abyss of writhing tentacles and countless unblinking eyes that appear to follow our every move, challenging our very sanity. Beneath it lies an altar stained a deep, rusty red. Around the base, an insidious black mist oozes and curls, moving as if alive. An oppressive energy emanates from it, a beacon of malevolence that renders the bravest hearts weak.

I stand in abject horror.

A stanza of one of those childhood lullabies, not often repeated, comes to mind.

Silent watcher, ever near,

Breathing dread, and purest fear

The beast awaits, with malice blind,

Bound by chains, yet not confined.