The departure from the Ember Plains was a spectacle of fire and farewell.
High Priestess Kaara stood at the border gate of Obsidian Heart, her flame-hair crackling in the hot wind, bronze skin gleaming with oil and sweat from the final ritual. Behind her, hundreds of newly pregnant priestesses lined the lava road, bellies already showing the faint glow of quickened life. Young Amazon daughters—born mere months ago yet already towering teens in strength—raised obsidian spears in salute.
Kaara embraced Ethan one last time, her massive tits pressing against him as she whispered, "Our fires burn eternal now because of you. Return whenever the flames call."
Vaeloria, silver hair flowing like moonlight on water, lifted Ethan onto the lead lava-steed with effortless strength. Thora and Brynja flanked him, their own pregnancies far along, bellies rounded under light armor. Rowan, Elara, Liora, Sylva, and the core harem rode in guarded wagons, while fifty Amazon daughters marched as vanguard.
Five hundred and eighty pregnancies overall—and rising.
The journey west took two weeks. Rolling green hills gave way to golden coastal dunes, then to vast white-sand beaches where the Azure Sea stretched endless and shimmering. Salt wind replaced sulfur, cooling the air as they approached hidden coves known only to sea-folk.
Emissaries awaited them there—ten nymphs of the Sunken Groves, risen from the waves like living dreams.
Their skin ranged from pearl-white to deep ocean teal, hair long and flowing in impossible hues: sea-green, turquoise, silver-blue, and coral-pink, moving gently even on land as if stirred by invisible currents. Bodies were sleek yet abundantly curvaceous—high, buoyant breasts that defied gravity, narrow waists flaring into rounded hips, and long legs that could shift at will into graceful, scaled tails.
They wore almost nothing: strings of pearls and seashells that barely covered pert nipples or smooth, hairless pussies already glistening with anticipation.
The lead emissary, a beauty named Lyralei with hair like liquid sapphire, bowed low. "Breeder of the Surface," she sang, voice carrying through air like melody through water. "Queen Thalassa bids you welcome. The Groves have waited centuries for true seed."
Pearl boats—crafted from giant nautilus shells enchanted to float—carried the group across calm shallows to a glowing whirlpool. As they entered, magic enveloped them: air bubbles formed protective spheres, gills bloomed at necks, lungs adapted to breathe water. Land-bound women like Vaeloria and the Amazons received temporary tails—Vaeloria's silver scales magnificent on her seven-foot frame, Thora and Brynja's powerful muscles translating into sweeping, lethal propulsion.
The descent was breathtaking.
Light filtered through layers of azure, revealing coral spires and gardens of glowing anemones. Schools of iridescent fish darted like living jewels. Ancient shipwrecks bloomed with seaweed forests. Waterfalls flowed upward into surface clouds, creating rainbows in the depths.
The Sunken Groves unfolded in terraced levels: upper reefs vibrant with color, mid-depths of crystal palaces and kelp cathedrals, lower trenches guarded by bioluminescent guardians.
Queen Thalassa awaited in the grandest palace—a throne of living coral and pearl, open to gentle currents. She was regal perfection: lower body a sapphire-scaled tail that could shift to legs, upper body humanoid and voluptuous—skin like moonlight on waves, hair a cascade of deepest turquoise, breasts massive and floating gently, nipples adorned with pearl rings.
Hundreds of nymphs and mer-women filled the palace halls—bodies diverse and ethereal: some fully legged with pearl skin, others tailed in shimmering scales, hair in every sea color, tits ranging from pert handfuls to overflowing abundance, pussies smooth and often pierced with tiny glowing gems.
"Breeder," Thalassa sang, voice resonating through water. "Our blood fades. Currents darken with void whispers from the trenches. We need daughters of strength—born of man and sea."
The welcoming ritual began in the Heart Chamber—a vast open space where water pressure caressed like a lover, currents warm and inviting.
Dozens of nymphs surrounded Ethan, bodies brushing his in slow, sensual dances. Lyralei claimed him first—tail shifting to legs as she wrapped around him, guiding his thick cock into her cool, rippling pussy. Walls fluttered like waves, gripping in rhythmic pulses that drew a groan from his throat.
Around them, others joined: mouths kissing his neck and chest, buoyant tits pressing against his back, hands stroking his balls as currents carried them in weightless spins.
Thalassa watched from her throne, fingers tracing her own pearl piercings, until she could wait no longer. She shifted to legs and descended, massive breasts enveloping his face as she took Lyralei's place. Her pussy was deeper, warmer at the core—clenching like tidal forces as she rode slow and regal, tail scales brushing his thighs.
Vaeloria floated nearby, temporary tail flicking, enormous tits buoyant and magnificent. She organized the flow of women, ensuring none overwhelmed him, yet her sapphire eyes burned with restrained craving.
Thora and Brynja guarded the chamber edges, tails powerful, but even they indulged when invited—riding him in tandem, pregnant pussies taking him deep while nymphs licked where bodies joined.
The ritual stretched into hours—bodies floating in zero-gravity bliss, pussies sliding down his shaft in endless variety: cool and tight, warm and rippling, some with inner textures like coral ridges that milked him relentlessly.
By the end, sixty new pregnancies sparked—bellies glowing with underwater light, quickened by the Groves' ancient fertility.
Six hundred and forty overall.
But as celebrations began—dances of light and current, songs that vibrated through water—a distant rumble shook the palace foundations.
From the abyssal trenches below, void corruption stirred.
The real test of the depths had only begun.