At the edge of the ruins and just beyond the reach of the Grove Mother's psychic illusion, the twisted heart of the Ashen Grove echoed with the symphony of collapse.
Marigold Nightshade, a Type W Sow whose lush body was designed for nurturing, screamed internally as she hauled Milky Ashcroft's deadweight through the temple's dying veins. Jagged stone corridors, their mosaics of ecstatic gods cracking and falling, pulsed and crumbled like the dying heart of some forgotten behemoth.
The air was a choking, unholy soup of ancient rot, pulverized rock, and the sharp, coppery tang of the Grove Mother's corrupted power—a relentless assault on the senses designed to drive the unprepared to madness. Sweat, slick and hot, poured down Marigold's back, soaking her curves. Her heavy breasts heaved with each desperate, lung-searing gasp, nipples chafing raw against the rough fabric from the constant friction of motion.
Milky's limp form was a monstrous burden, her sweat-slick skin sliding against Marigold's grip, a constant, frustrating struggle for purchase. The unconscious Sow's cunt, a victim of the Grove Mother's psychic rape, still twitched with faint, phantom spasms, leaking a thin trail of slick that mixed with the grime and dust into a filthy, arousing mud that coated Marigold's own legs.
The sight, the scent of it, sparked a traitorous pulse of heat deep in Marigold's core, a flicker of dark, possessive Nightshade mana that was both horrifying and shamefully thrilling amidst the terror.
They burst from the temple's maw not into blessed open sky, but back into the suffocating, beautiful lie of the Ashen Grove.
Here, in this pocket of the blighted land, the air had changed; the cloying, cock-hardening aphrodisiacal bite was gone, thinned to a teasing whisper that licked at their skin like a lover's breath. The path ahead cleared with an unnatural, almost solicitous grace, the grasping thorns receding like submissive flesh parting for a Dom's thrust. Soft, luminous moss cushioned their steps, muffling the sound of their frantic escape.
For a few heart-pounding, desperate minutes, hope bloomed in Marigold's chest like a swelling clit—hot, insistent, whispering that they might actually escape this mana-forsaken hell.
But the moment that fragile thought solidified, crystallizing in her mind like raw mana turning solid, the psychic tether that had bound Milky to the Grove Mother snapped.
It was not a gentle release; it was a violent, metaphysical amputation.
Milky's body, which had been a pliant deadweight, seized as if struck by lightning. Her limbs locked in a violent, full-body convulsion, making her ass cheeks slap together with an audible, obscene smack. A guttural, whore-like gasp ripped from her throat, raw and violated, as she was flung from Marigold's grasp, collapsing face-first into the damp, shit-stinking earth.
The impact jiggled her curvaceous form, her heavy breasts squishing against the ground in a humiliating, obscene spread. Her limbs flailed wildly, fingers clawing at the dirt like she was scratching for a lost orgasm. A thin, keening wail exploded from her core as the psychic backlash hammered her brain, pounding and violating, leaving her mind a gaping hole echoing with the Grove Mother's slimy commands, throbbing with the aftershocks of unwanted cum.
Milky writhed there, hips grinding instinctively against the rough soil, her cunt dripping from the mind-fuck's lingering heat, her body wracked with tremors that made her look like a desperate slut mid-climax. For a heartbeat, she lay broken, violated, her pride a ransacked temple.
But then the fog lifted. Her eyes snapped open, no longer vacant, but wild and feral.
Breath heaving in ragged, pussy-wet pants, she pushed up on shaking arms, muscles straining like cords about to snap, her tits dangling heavy and sweat-glistened. She staggered to her feet, swaying, her cunt still pulsing visibly between her thighs, but her gaze was sharpening into a blade of pure, unadulterated venom that locked onto Marigold.
The simmering tension of their exile-forged rivalry—jealousy thick as mana-musk, paranoia bitter as unswallowed seed—ignited like a powder keg doused in aphrodisiac oil.
"You let it happen!" Milky shrieked, her voice cracking like a whip across bare ass. She scrambled up on unsteady legs, jabbing a trembling finger at Marigold's chest like an accusing cock. "Your filthy Nightshade tricks drew this curse on us, you tainted whore!"
Marigold flinched, her own clit throbbing as a wave of hot, defiant anger flooded her veins, the dark mana within her stirring in response. "I fought that bitch while she had you dancing like a mind-fucked puppet, you ungrateful slut!" she roared back, stepping forward, her voice a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the air. "Don't you dare blame my power for your weak fucking mind. Yours snapped like a virgin ass under a Dom's first thrust!"
Milky's laugh erupted, sharp and ugly, a jagged sound that cut the air like teeth on a nipple. Her tits heaved wildly as she spat, "My mana's pure, unlike your poisoned shit! You're a blight, a foreign weed too weak to protect anything but your own dripping cunt!"
"My power held her off long enough to haul your worthless, cum-leaking hide from that hellhole!" Marigold screamed, closing the distance between them, her own dark mana flaring, coiling around her like shadowy, thorny tendrils ready to lash. "If your 'pure' Ivy Court brain wasn't so easy to break, like a brittle cock-nugget under pressure, I wouldn't have had to play savior to your pathetic ass!"
Their voices clashed in a cacophony of hate, ripping through the Grove's suffocating stillness like dueling thrusts—raw and unrelenting. The air thickened with their fury-spiked musk, their argument becoming a verbal fuck-fight.
It was their fatal mistake, that explosive verbal fuck-fight drawing unseen eyes like moths to a mana-flame.
A shimmering silver net crashed down from the canopy like a divine cum-shot, its enchanted wires biting into their sweat-slick skin like razor-fanged teeth, instantly choking their mana flows like a brutal hand around a throbbing throat. They slammed to the ground in a tangled, humiliating heap of flesh, cunts exposed, asses grinding against each other in helpless friction, utterly powerless and dripping with shame.
From the shadows of the twisted, flesh-like trees slithered Thorn, a Bitch built like coiled thunder, her lean muscles rippling under taut, scarred skin. Her eyes gleamed with a cold, cunt-hungry light that promised a universe of pain-laced pleasure.
Flanking her were her two new acquisitions: a jasmine-skinned Sow whose heavy, ripe breasts strained against scant silks like overfilled mana-sacs begging to burst, and a twitchy, androgynous Fem whose nervous, leaking cocklet bobbed like a scared minnow, pre dribbling down his trembling thighs.
Thorn's smirk split her face like a fresh, bleeding gash. Her voice was a purr laced with razor-wire, a sound that was both seductive and utterly terrifying. "Well, fuck me sideways," she drawled, her gaze sweeping over the bound, helpless Sows. "The Heir's prized cum-dump pair, all trussed up like fresh meat for the slaughter. Looks like you bitches ran into some real trouble far from your fancy court fuck-pads."
She prowled their bound forms, her heavy boots sinking into the loam with a deliberate, menacing squelch, each step a throb of dominance that made the very air hum.
She knelt before Milky, her fingers, long and calloused, trailing over her exposed hip in a slow, invasive stroke, her nails digging in just enough to draw beads of blood-sweat. The touch sent an icy fire jolting through Milky's veins, her cunt clenching in a hot, wet spasm of pure, betrayed heat despite the terror. A choked sob caught in her throat like swallowed cum, her body arching involuntarily as unwanted slick leaked freer.
"Lady Ashcroft," Thorn purred, her voice a venomous whisper that slithered into Milky's ear like a probing tongue. "A pleasure to finally see you brought low. My mistress sends her regards. She felt your... pure mana could use a lesson in humility."
The name—mistress—hung in the air, a chilling confirmation that this was no random attack. This was a political assassination, a message delivered by a predator.
"And you," Thorn purred, her voice dropping to a low, intimate growl as she turned her full, suffocating attention to Marigold. She moved between her trembling thighs, her face lowering, her nose brushing against the slick, weeping folds of Marigold's cunt. She inhaled deeply, a long, appreciative drag, tasting the dark, thorny thrum of Nightshade mana like an addict snorting pure essence.
"The little Nightshade whore. You reek of the crippled Heir. A scent I find... distasteful. We're going to cleanse you of it."