The deeper we went into the living tunnel, the more… messed up things became.
At first, the body parts had still retained something resembling individuality—separate organs, separate screams locked inside separate skulls. But the further we descended, the more the boundaries dissolved.
Now the flesh flowed. A thigh muscle the size of a horse rippled and merged seamlessly into a ribcage that wasn't quite elven and wasn't quite orcish anymore.
It seeped and merged like wax under a relentless flame. Eyes, unblinking and of every conceivable color, swam in a sea of skin, their gazes fixed on some unseen point within the wall itself. Teeth, some human, some animal, some demonic, sprouted in perfect, pearly rows from patches of what looked like liver tissue.
And the sounds…
Not screams anymore. Not really.
More like… wet, choral breathing. A thousand lungs that no longer belonged to any single owner exhaling in ragged, asynchronous harmony. Sometimes a word would almost form—please—help—mother—kill—before the meat rearranged itself and swallowed the syllable back into gurgling silence.
Beatrice had gone very quiet.
Her illusion still wore the purple-haired pretty-boy mask, but the set of those borrowed shoulders was rigid, and every few steps her fingers would twitch as though she wanted to reach out and… dissect something. Study it. Take notes.
That was until we spotted something that truly horrified her.
Succubi heads.
At least a dozen of them, fused together in a horrifying, weeping bouquet of beautiful faces. Their black horns were tangled in a desperate, intimate embrace. Their eyes, wide and forever screaming, were the same shade of crimson as Beatrice's.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her breath hitching.
For a split second, the illusion wavered. I saw the true Beatrice underneath—her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. The playful, predatory mask was gone. In its place was something raw and dangerous.
"Red Baron…" she breathed the name, not like an epithet, but like a curse. "I will flay the skin from your bones and wear it as a cape."
I'd seen her angry. I'd seen her turned on. I'd seen her annoyed. But I'd never seen this. This was cold, personal, and it promised a level of suffering that made the tunnel around us look merciful.
Then her composure snapped back into place, the purple-haired illusion settling like a shroud.
"…Mother… Beatrice," one of the heads rasped, its voice a wet, gurgling whisper that echoed in the fleshy corridor. Its blood-red eyes locked onto us. "Kill… us…"
Beatrice froze.
I felt the temperature in the tunnel drop five degrees.
"…Mother… Beatrice," they chorused again, softer this time. Almost tender. "You came… home…"
Her name, spoken from the meat-wall, was a physical blow. Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white.
Beatrice raised one hand.
Pink light gathered between her fingers—not the delicate shimmer she used for charm, but something denser, angrier, like molten glass.
"I'm going to give you peace," she told them.
The heads smiled.
All at once.
Hundreds of perfect white teeth gleamed in the sickly green glow.
"…too late for peace…" they sang. "…he already ate the rest of us… you're only looking at the leftovers…"
Beatrice's hand shook. The pink light flickered violently, then extinguished.
She couldn't do it.
For all her talk of art and brilliance, she couldn't burn her own kin. Even this twisted, agonized remnant of them.
"I can't save them," she said to me, her voice a low, taut string of vibration. "But I can kill the thing that did this."
I stepped behind her and embraced her from behind, my arms wrapping around her slender waist, my chest pressing against her back. She was rigid, but didn't pull away.
"I know," I said, my chin resting on her shoulder. I whispered in her ear, my voice barely audible above the wet chorus of the tunnel.
"This is my fault for letting them get taken, and I will fix it," she said, her voice barely a whisper, her body still trembling with rage.
I then let my hands slide from her waist up to her shoulders, massaging gently, trying to ease some of the tension.
"This is not your fault, Bea," I said, my tone soft but firm. "But it's your responsibility now."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly under my touch.
"I can help you ease their pain," I said, my right hand slowly moving down until it rested above her belly.
Her illusion flickered, fully revealing her true female form.
"How?" she asked, her voice cracking.
"Trust me," I said.
She didn't say anything, but she didn't protest either. She simply nodded, her head tilting back slightly, exposing her slender neck.
I softly bit her neck, my right hand then beginning to glow with a dark purple light as I activated my 'Share' skill.
"Devour," I whispered.
Slowly, dark, shadowy tendrils began to emerge from her pussy and tail opening. They slithered across the floor, their movement slow and deliberate, like vines searching for sunlight. They were an extension of me, a part of me, connected to her through my touch.
"What… are they?" she asked, her body tensing slightly as she felt the new sensation. It was probably a strange feeling, having something grow out of you.
"Our answer," I murmured against the soft skin of her neck, teeth still grazing the spot I'd bitten. "And they're us, right now."
The shadowy tendrils thickened, grew darker, more solid. They weren't mere smoke anymore—they were slick, warm, almost liquid muscle wrapped in night. Each one pulsed in time with my heartbeat, with her heartbeat.
Then, they reached the wall of flesh.
"My power doesn't just destroy," I continued. "It consumes. It understands. When I Devour, I don't just take memories and flesh. I take the essence. The pain. The fear. The very soul that makes a thing what it is. Usually, I keep it. But now…"
I squeezed her shoulder gently, a silent command.
"…we will offer it mercy. A sharing."
Understanding dawned slowly in Beatrice's eyes. A profound, terrifying, and utterly welcome understanding. She relaxed against me completely, her full weight pressing back into my chest, her trust absolute.
"Do it," she breathed.
The shadowy tendrils reached the bouquet of succubi heads.
They didn't scream.
For the first time since we'd entered the tunnel, there was silence.
One by one, the tendrils wrapped around the tangled horns and pale faces. They didn't bite; they absorbed. The dark purple light from my hand pulsed in sync with the heartbeat of the tunnel, acting as a bridge. Through the 'Share' skill, I felt Beatrice's grief, her fury, her guilt. And through my own connection to the tendrils, I offered her something else.
A direct link to their suffering and relief.
The heads stopped weeping.
Their eyes, wide and forever screaming, slowly closed. The expressions changed. Terror softened. Rage ebbed.
"…thank you…" one whispered, barely audible, before dissolving into black motes of light that flowed back toward Beatrice.
One by one, the heads were devoured not by destruction, but by absorption. The shadowy tendrils pulled their essence—their pain, their memories, their very being—into themselves, and then channeled it directly into Beatrice.
Her body trembled violently in my arms, not in fear, but in ecstasy. She was resisting the urge to scream and moan as the raw, untamed essence of her kin flooded her.
"They're… they're inside me," Beatrice whispered. Her hands came up to cover mine, her fingers interlacing with mine over her belly.
"They're coming home, Bea," I replied. "Into you. Into us. No more walls. No more stitches."
Another tendril rose from between her ass cheeks, thicker than the rest. It squeezed once—firm, claiming—then pressed insistently against my own cock through my trousers. Just… waiting. Asking.
Affected by my words, Beatrice had a desire to 'share' the feeling she was experiencing with me.
Slowly, I shifted back to my succubus form, my body melting and reforming until my bare breasts were pressed against her back, my own hips curving to fit hers. The new tendril from Beatrice didn't hesitate.
It found my own wet, heated opening and plunged deep.
"Ahh~"
I gasped, the sensation hitting me like a physical wave. It wasn't just the invasion of the tendril; it was the psychic backflow. Through that dark, pulsing umbilical cord, I felt exactly what Beatrice was feeling. The sorrow of a dozen sisters, the bitter taste of their final moments, the crushing despair of being made into furniture. Every scream they had ever uttered was being replayed in my mind as a shiver of pure, unadulterated sensation.
Beatrice's head fell back against my shoulder, her horns scraping against mine. Her eyes were rolled back, glowing with an intense, neon-pink light that threatened to swallow the pupils entirely. Her skin was burning, radiating a heat that made the tunnel's feverish walls feel like ice.
"Aza…" she choked out, her fingers digging into my thighs, drawing blood. "It's… too much… I can't…"
She didn't want to finish. The pleasure was overwhelming.
"You can."
"More," she rasped. Not a request. A command.
Another tendril answered her.
It rose from the slick pool gathering between our thighs—born from her, fed by me—and pushed past the tight ring of my ass in one smooth, relentless glide. No preamble. No gentleness. Just raw, possessive fullness that made my vision spark white at the edges.
We were impaled on each other now.
Front and back for her. Front and back for me. A sealed circuit of power, pleasure, and pain.
Our kiss was violent. Teeth clashing. Tongues warring. I tasted salt—her tears, my blood, the faint metallic echo of everything we'd just consumed. Her hand reached back, fingers tangling in my hair, yanking my head harder against hers as if she could fuse us at the mouth the way the tunnel had fused everything else.
The tendrils inside us began to move.
They pulsed in perfect unison with the enormous heartbeat echoing from deeper in the labyrinth. Slow. Heavy. Inevitable. Each contraction dragged pleasure-pain along every nerve, forcing us higher, forcing us together.
Beatrice broke the kiss, a ragged sob escaping her lips. But they weren't tears of sorrow anymore. They were tears of release. Of vindication.
"He… he made them scream… for eternity…" she panted, her body bucking against mine as the tendrils drove deeper. "I'll make him beg… for one… sweet second… of silence…"
"We will… wife."
[A/N: Hello everyone I hope you're doing fine. I would like to ask you to leave a review I'm trying to collect the necessary ones for the rating. Thank you all and have fun]