Through the crack of the window, seeing the daylight already blazing outside, Charles braced himself with one arm, preparing to get up. "I need to return... ah!"
Immediately, he realized his legs were like jelly, completely powerless.
Sensing his predicament, Porter let out a gentle laugh and leaned down again, her tone soft: "Let me help you get dressed, my adorable Priest."
...
Ten minutes later, with Porter's support, Charles limped his way back to the monastery's great doorway. It seemed that Andny had alerted someone in advance, for when he arrived, Hattie was already there waiting.
He thanked Porter for escorting him, watched her leave, and then allowed Hattie to help him back inside the monastery. Closing the door, her lips curled into a sly smile: "Master, how did you feel last night?"
Charles recalled the previous night's wildness. To be honest, with the invaluable Amazonian nourishing foods, he hadn't experienced any actual agony—everything was genuine pleasure, and only in calm analysis did some fear surface...
But facing the witches, guilt crept in. Instinctively, he put on a pained expression, holding his lower back and shaking his head: "Don't even mention it, I've lost all feeling in my legs. Hiss..."
He couldn't help but grumble, "Hattie, you all must've known what was happening—surely Andny saw as well? Why didn't you rescue me?"
Hattie pursed her lips and giggled lightly: "Because Andny said you were clearly enjoying yourself. And Sophia said this was actually good for you! That kind of group revel only happens once in decades, and they really went all out for you..."
"It's nothing but beneficial for your body. You may be tired for a few days, but naturally, we wouldn't interfere."
Charles's face remained twisted: "Still, this is... never mind, forget it."
Shaking his head, he gave up on further complaint. "Help me to my dorm. I'm going to rest for a full day. No lessons, no training today."
"And... I can't go punish Nidalee today. But we can't let her interrogation end—you take my place this time, Hattie."
Saying this, he slid the diamond ring from his left index finger and handed it to the nun beside him.
Hattie accepted it, slipping it on her own right ring finger, then nodded: "Of course, Master. Rest well—I will take care of this."
A glint shone in her eyes: "I'll make sure that druid receives an absolutely unforgettable experience."
Charles thought she had plans of her own—she was always good at using illusions to bring people close to the brink. His only advice was "don't break her," then he said no more.
...
On the hillside.
Handsome, fair-skinned Charles was pinned beneath, his expression pitiful. Nidalee sat astride his hips, her spirits high, then abruptly thrust downward—
"Ah..."
Yet again, the familiar moment when dream-matter ran out occurred. The entire dream faded to nothing. In reality, locked on her low cot in a prison uniform, Nidalee awakened slowly, her eyes brimming with endless emptiness and loneliness.
She was tormented by her solitude, nearly driven mad by the weight of it.
It was never what she expected—compared to whatever torments Charles could inflict, loneliness in the dungeon was breaking her down first.
Never in her life had she imagined before that being alone could be such torture. In the past, Nidalee believed she wasn't afraid of solitude. Unwilling to accept her father's many arrangements, she often wandered out by herself, shifting into panther form to run wild and free across the hills.
When she'd grown tired, she would rest in the grass, counting the stars, lost in her thoughts, breathing the scent of green and earth, listening to distant birds and cicadas until she drifted off, or until someone from her tribe called her back...
More often than not, she had only the company of nature—the running water, woods, flowers, birds, insects and fish. She'd never found it unbearable.
But now, trapped in this dungeon, she could no longer look at the stars, or smell the blossoms, or hear the birds. Even when she tried to meditate, there was no more response from the energies of nature. Only now did she realize, with chilling clarity, how terrifying real emptiness and solitude could be!
She had always relied on the world of nature to drive loneliness away. Without it, true isolation's horror emerged.
She felt she might go insane. The urge to claw at the stone, to snarl out loud, rose within her. Only pride kept her from revealing to Charles how broken-down she really was; instead, she forced herself to hold back that need to scream and thrash.
Now, Charles's interrogations were her only relief from the loneliness. Truthfully, those sessions weren't even that agonizing—if she adjusted her posture to suit his approach, it could even feel... nice.
Struggling beneath solitude, the druid had grown accustomed to the daily questioning—even beginning to welcome it, and to spar with Charles in words, trading barbs and taunts to keep him around longer, to draw out the company.
Imagining how Charles might interrogate her next, planning her own responses, plotting how to taunt him, and how to counter his retorts—these were the only ways Nidalee could soothe her solitude between visits...
Buzz—
The dungeon gates creaked, footsteps echoed. Nidalee's heart thudded, desperate for a glimpse of the figure who would break her loneliness.
Still, she made herself remain composed, putting on a look of defiance while waiting for him to appear.
Thud, thud, thud—
The steps were unfamiliar. This wasn't Charles. Someone else was coming.
Nidalee held her breath, peering outward—and saw an angelically beautiful nun approaching, cloaked in heavy black robes. Her sapphire eyes shone, her marvelous figure nearly bursting from her habit, accentuating every curve in stark, obvious contradiction to the sanctified garment's intent.
A gentle smile played about the nun's lips, conveying warmth and kindness. Nidalee didn't know her, but she was well aware that this woman was one of those witches who could transform into terrifying monsters.
At once, the druid's face twisted in alarm. She shrank away, adopting a defensive stance. "Who are you? Where's Charles?"
"I'm a nun of this monastery. You may call me 'Hattie.'" The nun's lips parted in a silvery, ethereal voice. "As for Master—he's otherwise occupied. Today I'll take over your interrogation."
She stepped to the iron bars, eyes fixed on Nidalee. "A word of warning: I am neither as merciful nor as patient as Master."
She paused, then continued, "Much as I'd like to begin, I'm required to ask one thing first by Master's orders."
"Miss Nidalee, are you willing to tell us the real purpose behind your quest for the Holy Sword Fragment?"
Nidalee shook her head at once. "In your dreams!"
At that, Hattie inclined her head slightly. "Very well. Then I'll waste no more time."
Even as she spoke, black mist erupted from beneath her habit, swiftly filling the cell with ink-dark haze.
The next second, several thick, black-green tentacles emerged from the mist, wrapping themselves around Nidalee's bare feet.
"Ah—!"
The sight triggered memories she did not want to recall; the horrors she'd witnessed that night invaded her mind. Nidalee's body went rigid, trembling, as she let out a sharp, terrified scream.
Watching her, Hattie's smile only widened. "I don't know what methods Master prefers, but my way is quite simple. I hope you enjoy it."
With that, the slick tentacles stretched further, sliding beneath Nidalee's clothes, binding her limbs and beginning to gently stroke her skin.
"No—!"
Nidalee screamed her resistance, shaking her head frantically and struggling to escape the tentacles' grip. Yet, powerless to cast spells, she could do nothing against their inhuman strength.
"You witch, I'll kill you!"
Her curses were pitiful, the struggle only making her seem even more helpless. The tentacles had fixed her firmly, leaving only her head free to move.
It got worse. One warm tentacle began to caress the soles of her feet, slithering like a wet tongue, licking her tender skin.
"Ah—hahaha—ha—!"
The unbearable tickling made Nidalee laugh uncontrollably, helpless tears threatening to spill. Her sensitive, pampered feet—unused to any true hardship—were devastated by this gentle, maddening torment.
Seeing her method was working, Hattie's lips curled into a further smile.
This was only the beginning. More tentacles crept higher, sliding beneath her clothes, winding about her thighs to caress the soft skin within.
"You—disgusting—!"
Fear welled within Nidalee; she dreaded the thought of one of these tentacles slipping into those forbidden places on her body. She cursed aloud, her long, dark ponytail whipped loose as she shook her head wildly. Yet, powerless against these tendrils, she could only be grateful that, so far, none had invaded her most private places.
Still, terror loomed near: more tentacles crawled toward her waist and armpits, pausing—awaiting only Hattie's command to begin the cruelest torture.
"You have one last chance." Hattie's voice was cold. "Tell us your real purpose—what do you want the Holy Sword Fragment for?"
"Tell the truth, and you can spare yourself the next round."
Nidalee closed her eyes, already on the brink of tears. Ticklish torment was beyond her capacity to endure. Yet when she pictured this beautiful witch—with her even finer body, her arrogant tone, the fact she too had shared Charles's bed—resentment flared in Nidalee's chest.
She shook her head stubbornly, baring her teeth: "I won't talk!"
"Very well. You have only yourself to blame," murmured Hattie.
With those words, the tentacles at Nidalee's waist and armpits began their assault—licking her sensitive nerves into a frenzy.
"Ah-ha—hahaha—hah—!"
She could not stop laughing, all six sensitive points ablaze with maddening sensation, mind pushed nearly to the edge. And this was far from over—soon, two more tentacles slithered up, one playing with her breasts and another teasing between her thighs, stoking feverish heat within her body.
"You—haha—you beast—haha—pervert—!"
Staring at the ceiling, mouth wide in laughter, she was left gasping for breath. Yet even as her most secret flesh was teased, it brought her nothing but mortified shame and furious protest.
Hattie's brows rose: "My, such vigor still."
A thick tentacle rose high, plunging suddenly into Nidalee's open mouth, filling her cavity and curling around her tongue.
"Mmmph—uh-mmm!"
Now the poor druid could not even laugh, forced to bear the electric shocks through her most sensitive places, mouth helplessly filled. She rolled her eyes in desperation, nearly blacking out under the relentless torment—
Whoosh—
Suddenly, all the tentacles dispersed into mist, vanishing into the air. Nidalee collapsed to the ground, drenched in sweat, gasping for breath.
"You'd best think it over," Hattie advised from outside the bars, her face icy. "If you keep resisting, tomorrow will only get worse."
With that, she turned and strode away, leaving Nidalee alone in her cell.
The dungeon faded once more into gloom as Nidalee's gasping gradually subsided. But she did not immediately rise to return to her cot—she simply lay there amidst the straw, as if hope itself had left her.
Though Hattie had been purified by Charles, she was still just his follower, not the monastery's Master—still less the Dungeon's master.
Thus, while tormenting Nidalee, the cell's psychic enchantments remained dormant. All she'd felt was the barest pleasure; most of the experience was humiliation and actual agony.
This was true torment—utterly different from Charles's so-called torture, which was punishment in name only and in truth much closer to reward.
And Hattie had said that tomorrow's punishment would be harsher still…
"Wuu…uhh—!"
Stricken, Nidalee's long-held grievances finally erupted, and she buried her head in the straw, sobbing uncontrollably.
She had never wanted her enemies to see this broken, vulnerable side of her—but alone, in the empty darkness, she could endure no more. Her weeping echoed through the void, the loneliest sound in all that forsaken place.
At last, after a long time, Nidalee composed herself and climbed back onto her cot to rest.
But that night, instead of dreaming of rolling in the grass with Charles beneath the spring stars, she had a nightmare—one all about Hattie: The witch appeared, leering through the bars, wielding a legion of slavering tentacles.
Nidalee was naked, bound tight by a swarm of tendrils, being caressed everywhere. Worst of all, her body's three forbidden entrances were all brutally penetrated by thick, slick, ink-green tentacles.
Sticky, milky fluid and huge eggs were pumped into her, her belly swelling and swelling until her stomach looked like she was ten months pregnant. Milk trickled from both lips and nethers, leaving an obscene, horrifying mess.
Where once her petite breasts had been taut, now they swung heavy and round like overfilled balloons, the tips leaking thick, aromatic milk. Beside her, the dreadful nun Hattie jeered, while pinning metal milking machines to her chest, extracting brimming goblets of steaming cream.
With every cup, Hattie and Charles clinked glasses and drank before her, leaving white stains on their lips. In the end, they pried her mouth open and forced her own milk back into her throat…
"Ah—!"
Nidalee bolted awake, forehead slick with cold sweat, clutching her chest and stomach to make sure that nothing had changed. Only after confirming herself intact did she let out a long, shaky breath.
Thank goodness, it was only a nightmare…
But Hattie would be back today.
Imagining what might await, she trembled.
Please, fate—let that witch come a little later…
She prayed desperately, though fate never once heeded her needs. Before long, the sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs once again—someone was coming to torture her anew…
Nidalee shrank into a ball, pulling a quilt over herself, crowding into the corner and shaking, wide eyes glued to the cell's doorway—
And then she saw a familiar silhouette.
Tall and handsome, with a fair complexion and a fine sheen of sweat left from recent exertion, he lifted a hand, splitting the cell's iron bars open of their own accord, clearing a path for himself: "Good morning, Nidalee. Tell me, have you come to any decisions today?"
Instantly, the druid's composure collapsed. She burst out sobbing, launched herself from the bed, and locked her arms around his waist.
"Eh?"
Charles blinked, baffled by her tears and breakdown. "What's gotten into you? Hey now…"
Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped her eyes. "Well? Are you ready to tell the truth?"
Nidalee just buried her face against his waist, shaking her head fiercely as she clung to his arm, refusing to let go.
"I see," Charles sighed. "Well then, punishment continues!"
With the last word, four thick ropes sprang from the walls, binding Nidalee's limbs.
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