Rest with your unconscious Zelda harem until morning then Leave the Zeldas to recover and check on the Triforce dungeon construction progress
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You wake twenty hours later, your body sprawled across silk sheets. The twelve Zeldas lie unconscious around you in various positions of satisfied exhaustion, their enhanced bodies still twitching occasionally with residual pleasure. Cum leaks steadily from their stretched asses.
You extract yourself carefully from the tangle of limbs and dress quickly. The Zeldas don't stir—they'll need several more hours to recover from the systematic destruction you inflicted on them.
The flagship corridors are quiet as you make your way toward the hangar bay where Rebecca's team established the Minecraft dimension portal. You're halfway there when you spot Fleet Admiral Gion approaching from the opposite direction.
She's wearing her usual skintight blue bodysuit with white armor plates, her metallic pink bob perfectly styled. Her enormous breasts strain against the material as she walks with military precision.
"Mistress," Gion greets you, stopping a respectful distance away. "Cortana informed me the new Zelda strike team falls under my tactical command. I was heading to their quarters to begin operational briefings."
You can't help but smirk. "They're in my bedroom. Well fucked."
Gion's professional demeanor cracks as she laughs genuinely, the sound carrying harmonic undertones from her vocal enhancements. "Then they won't be awake yet." Her pink eyes gleam with amusement. "How long should I delay the briefing?"
"Give them another four hours," you suggest. "They took my cock in all twelve asses. Systematically."
"Understood." Gion's expression shifts back to military focus. "I'll schedule the briefing for 1400 hours. Initial deployment scenarios include precision strikes on hardened Force-sensitive targets and archaeological site infiltration alongside Robin's team."
"Perfect." You resume walking. "I'm checking dungeon construction progress."
Gion nods and continues toward your quarters, already calculating tactical deployment matrices through her neural network.
You reach the hangar bay fifteen minutes later. The Minecraft dimension portal shimmers in the center of the space, its surface rippling with contained energy. Rebecca Frost stands nearby with three members of her handywoman collective, all wearing tool belts over their revealing construction outfits.
Rebecca spots you immediately and waves you over, her enhanced breasts bouncing as she approaches. "Mistress! Perfect timing. We've got significant progress to report."