Lyssandra strode forward, her body radiating out like an aura. Luna, wiping ineffectually at her tears, followed immediately.
When both of them emerged into the central cavern of the mansion, they stepped into instant pandemonium. A collective gasp rose from the assembled Bloom Mothers. For a suspended moment, utter silence reigned, thick with disbelief.
Then, the dam broke.
"MISTRESS!!!" The cry erupted from multiple throats simultaneously. Bodies moved. The Bloom Mothers surged forward like a tide, a wave of lush curves, desperate eyes, and reaching arms.
They threw themselves at Lyssandra not with the delicate embrace of reunion, but with the frantic intensity of creatures reclaiming their center, their sun, their very reason for being.
Hands scrabbled for purchase, on her arms, her back, her legs, grabbing fistfuls of her bodysuit and skin alike. They pressed close, burying faces against her body, weeping and babbling incoherently.
"Thank the gods! You're alive!!!" Naya gasped, clinging to her side.
"Please! Don't do anything so reckless ever again!" Helena pleaded, tears carving tracks through the grime on her face. She pressed her bulging belly protectively against Lyssandra's side, as if seeking to shield her child with her mistress's presence.
Another Bloom Mother gripped Lyssandra's free hand, pressing it against her swollen abdomen where heartbeats fluttered beneath the taut flesh. "M-Mistress! You're here! Mistress! We… we need you! Your babies… they need their mother!" Her voice was thick with emotion, her eyes wide and pleading.
Another mother, fiercely gripping Lyssandra's thigh, her head resting against her hip, whispered fiercely. "Yes! Think of the children! They cannot grow strong without you! They cannot learn to rule without your wisdom! You are the foundation of our future! The core of our tribe!"
The cavern echoed their declarations, a chorus of relief, desperate love, and profound need. Their adoration was almost physical. They pressed against her, anchored her, worshiped her through every trembling touch. The warmth filling Lyssandra had nothing to do with the thing nestled deep within her own womb.
She was their mistress, their queen, their goddess incarnate. And they were her creations, her extensions and her future.
"Where is Morgana?" Lyssandra cut through the babble, her voice sharp enough to still the chatter instantly. "She should be celebrating her master's return."
The moment the Bloom Mothers realized Morgana wasn't present, their joyous reunion faltered. A tangible unease rippled through them, a discordant note in the chorus of relief.
They exchanged anxious glances. Finally, one spoke up, her voice tight. "Mistress, she… she's been in her room for days. She hasn't stepped out, hasn't eaten much…" The woman trailed off, wringing her hands nervously. "She seemed troubled. Deeply so."
Before Lyssandra could form a question, a sound exploded from deeper within the mansion. A raw, animalistic, bone-grinding roar. It echoed down the stone corridors, a sound so primal, so laden with agony and fury that it froze everyone's blood.
"AAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!!"
Helena paled, her eyes wide with terror. "W-what… what was that?" Her voice was a breathy whisper.
Lyssandra didn't waste a moment on words. Her gut clenched, a cold certainty flooding her veins. She knew that sound. She'd heard variations of it from Morgana before. But never like this. Never with such raw, cataclysmic power. So she moved, a streak of darkness across the mansion floor, the Bloom Mothers scattering in her wake.
Slamming through Morgana's door and what greeted her inside was a scene of horrifying intensity.
Morgana was sprawled on the floor, a colossus felled. Her 2.3-meter humanoid form, magnificent in its power and femininity, was twisted into a parody of agony.
Her eight chitinous legs from behind her back, usually graceful, were splayed and twitching uncontrollably, scraping frantically at the stone floor with sickening scratch-scrape sounds.
Her white gossamer gown was ripped and stained, plastered to her sweating body by her own fluids. Her six fiery-red eyes were wide, staring blankly at the ceiling, rolled back so only the whites were showing.
But the true horror was her abdomen. Even in her reduced size, it was colossal, a monstrous dome straining the dress to its absolute limits. The skin rippled violently beneath the fabric as if the creature inside was trying to claw its way out.
The scale of it was unreal – a stomach large enough to hold an adult person, and then some, writhing with its own alien life. The rippling, contorting shapes visible beneath painted a picture of something enormous and monstrous shifting and writhing.
"Morgana!" Lyssandra snapped.
There was no response from the spider queen, just another strangled, guttural groan escaping her clenched teeth. With preternatural strength, Lyssandra scooped the massive woman off the floor. Her muscles strained against Morgana's incredible weight and density.
Lyssandra managed to maneuver her onto the specially-sized leather bed built for her height. Morgana landed with a heavy, damp thud, her body still thrashing, abdomen a heaving mountainscape.
Lyssandra yanked up the remains of the torn dress, fully exposing Morgana's swollen, pulsating belly. The skin was stretched impossibly tight, almost translucent. She could see the shadows of multiple round objects pressing against the surface from inside. A rhythmic bulge near the base of her belly suggested a round tip.
A dark, wet patch at the top was spreading rapidly.
She didn't need further confirmation, the sight already spoke volumes. Lyssandra's gaze hardened.
"Labor," she announced, her voice cracking like a whip across the chaos of Morgana's chamber. "Clear the room! Get out!"
The command was absolute, brooking no argument. The Bloom Mothers who had gathered in the doorway recoiled in unison.
Without a moment's hesitation, Lyssandra gripped Morgana's thighs. They felt dense, warm, the muscles beneath her palms coiled tight with tension and exertion.
She then wrenched Morgana's legs wide apart, exposing her most intimate place to the harsh lights from the window. The vagina was a sight that defied sanity. It was pulsing dramatically, visibly swelling and contracting after every shuddering gasp racking the spider queen's body.
It looked like a living mouth, gaping obscenely wide then puckering tight, dark-pink folds glistening wetly with an ever-increasing flood of fluid.
The sheer volume pouring out was shocking - translucent, viscous flood spurting rhythmically onto dark leather bed below like water from a ruptured pipe. The scent, pungent mix of amniotic fluid, musk, and raw biological process filled the air.
With another mental command, Lyssandra summoned a pair of thin, white rubber gloves from her system inventory. They materialized onto her hands, stretching taut over long fingers. Latex scent, sterile and sharp, cut through the heavier musk filling the room.
She didn't pause for propriety or hesitation though. This was an emergency.
Lyssandra reached between Morgana's trembling thighs and pressed her gloved thumbs against swollen lips of the vagina, spreading them wide apart.
Normally, even in Morgana's enhanced state, Lyssandra knew it could stretch impressively, perhaps 5-7 centimeters. But now?
Her breath hitched. It opened with disturbing ease, stretching far bigger than she had ever witnessed. It parted like ripe fruit, revealing deep, dark-crimson passage within, glistening with thick mucus.
10 centimeters… 12… 15 centimeters.
She could clearly see the canal walls, slick and muscular, convulsing rhythmically like a fist clenching. And there, at the back, straining visibly, was the cervix, thick, fibrous ring being brutally stretched. Through it, pressing urgently against the opening, was a white, rounded shape pushing against the walls.
"Push! Push, Morgana!" Lyssandra roared, voice cracking the air. "Bear down! Now!"
The command was demanding.
But it worked. A ragged, guttural sound tore from Morgana's throat. Muscles in her abdomen suddenly tensed into iron ridges.
Lyssandra could see the contraction physically ripple across belly, travelling down towards the birth canal. More fluid spurted out, warm gush soaking Lyssandra's arm.
She drove her hand deeper into the spider queen, pushing past the convulsing walls, feeling the terrifying give of cervix against her fingers while she widened the passage further, preparing the way.
"Push harder! Push, dammit!"
Morgana screamed.