Chapter 7: Birthed from the Worm
The worm’s interior was a slick, relentless hell of peristaltic motion. One moment she was compressed into a tight ball, the next stretched long as the muscular tube convulsed around her. She couldn’t tell which way was up. Her swollen belly, heavy with the litter of ovidor pups, was kneaded and pressed by the undulating flesh. Each squeeze forced a grunt from her lungs, already starved for clean air. The slime coating her naked skin was warm, thick as egg white, and it smelled of wet soil and something vaguely, nauseatingly sweet.
A violent contraction. The ring of muscle at the worm’s tail end dilated around her head, and she was pushed forward into damp, cool air. She spilled onto a rough stone floor in a gush of viscous fluid, gasping, her body shuddering with the shock of sudden stillness.
For a long minute, she just lay there, breathing. The air tasted of burnt rose petals and static. Her muscles, especially across her lower back and taut abdomen, screamed in protest. Her womb felt like a lead weight, the movement within it a constant, unsettling flutter.
“Get up,” she growled to herself, the sound ragged. “You’re not dead. It’s just another fucking delay.”
She pushed herself onto her hands and knees, slime dripping from her cropped blonde hair. Ahead, the tunnel opened into a circular chamber. The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting a constellation of softly glowing sigils that floated near the ceiling. A bedroll was laid out against one wall beside a simple canteen and a small basket. A safe room. Sanctuary.
Crawling was the only option. Each shuffle forward was a monumental effort. Her nullifying charms, small iron disks on a thong at her belt, clinked dully against the stone. They felt useless here. The labyrinth’s magic didn’t attack; it insinuated. It wore you down with pleasure and annoyance, not pain. That was its most profound insult.
She reached the threshold of the chamber and hauled herself onto the cool, smooth obsidian. The relief was immediate and profound. She grabbed the canteen, uncorked it, and drank deeply. The water was clean, cold. She tore into the dried fruit, the tart sweetness a shock to her system. As she ate, she took stock. No broken bones. The pups were still moving. The slime was already evaporating from her skin, leaving her dry but sticky. And she was still naked, her robes long since shredded by the ovidor’s initial, frantic coupling. Another layer of dignity stripped away. She didn’t care about modesty, only efficiency. Nudity was a tactical disadvantage, a vulnerability.
She was about to stretch out on the bedroll when a sound echoed from the serpentine tunnel she’d just left. Not the wet slide of the worm, but footsteps. Two sets. One light and agile, the other a slower, deliberate shuffle.
Korra was on her feet in an instant, her fighter’s instincts overriding the exhaustion. She backed toward the wall, placing the bedroll between her and the entrance, her gray eyes hard. Her hands flexed, ready to grapple, though she knew physical violence was often pointless here. The labyrinth preferred other kinds of fights.
Two figures emerged from the glowing, slime-slick passage.
First was a young woman with cat ears and a tail, her green eyes wide with curiosity. She moved with a dancer’s lightness but walked with a slight, awkward hitch in her step. Behind her came a short, curvy imp with glossy red skin, sharp horns, and a belly so distended she looked ready to birth a calf. Her lower abdomen glowed with a pink, stylized tattoo.
The cat-girl saw Korra first and stopped, her ears swiveling forward. “Oh! Hello! We’re not alone, Silva.”
The imp woman, Silva, shuffled into the chamber, one hand pressed against her glowing, swollen belly. Her vertical pupils scanned the room and locked onto Korra. She went very still.
A slow, uncomfortable recognition dawned on her sharp red features.
“You,” Silva breathed, her voice a mix of surprise and grim understanding. Her eyes traveled down Korra’s naked, slime-streaked body, over the broad shoulders and powerful arms, and came to rest on the distinct, pronounced swell of her pregnant belly. “Shit. You’re the one from the ovidor den.”
Korra’s spine stiffened. Her gray eyes, already cold, turned to chips of frost. A defensive snarl formed on her lips, but no sound came out. Shame, hot and acidic, washed through her veins. It wasn’t the nudity. It was the memory—the brutal, degrading force of the ovidor’s mating, the helpless feeling of being pinned and pumped full, the grotesque locking of its knotted cock inside her as it bred her. To have been seen in that moment of utter vulnerability, by anyone, was a violation that cut deeper than the act itself.
“You watched,” Korra stated, her voice dangerously low.
Silva’s gaze didn’t waver. “Didn’t have a choice. The path looped around that chamber.” She shifted her weight, and the translucent slime connecting her core to her panties pulsed faintly. “Saw it finish. Saw the knot. Took you a while to get free after it… detached.”
Each word was a small, precise stab. Korra’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. The nullifying charms on her belt felt like worthless trinkets. She had entered this place to destroy its creator, and instead she had been reduced to a breeding vessel, a spectacle for other lost souls. The ovidor pups stirred within her, a constant, living reminder.
Becca looked between them, her cat ears flattening slightly. “Uh, you two know each other? From… before?”
“No,” Korra bit out, her eyes still locked on Silva. “We don’t.”
“Saw her get fucked by a monster,” Silva clarified bluntly, no malice in her tone, just a blunt report of facts. “Big, wolf-thing. Knotted her. She’s carrying its litter now.” She gestured vaguely at Korra’s stomach. “Can’t be comfortable.”
The casual description, the dry observation, made the shame curdle into something darker and more volatile inside Korra. Her knuckles were white. “Say another word about it,” she growled, taking a half-step forward.
Silva held up her free hand, a placating gesture. “I’m not judging. Look at me.” She motioned to her own bloated abdomen, the glowing tattoo, the transparent slime visibly shifting within her. “This thing’s been fucking me since the second chamber. We’re all just trying to get to the center.”
The anger didn’t dissipate, but it lost its specific target, diffusing into a general, simmering rage against the labyrinth itself. Korra unclenched her fists, forcing a sharp breath through her nose. The cat-girl—Becca—was staring at her belly with open, unguarded curiosity.
“So it’s true?” Becca asked, taking a tentative step closer. Her tail swished nervously. “The monsters here… they can get you pregnant? For real?”
“Yes,” Korra said, the word final and heavy. She turned away from them, presenting her back as she walked stiffly to the bedroll. She needed to sit down. The emotional confrontation, on top of the physical ordeal, had sapped the last of her strength. The obsidian floor was mercifully cool under her bare feet.
She lowered herself onto the bedroll with a controlled grunt, her pregnant body awkward and uncooperative. Lying down was impossible; the weight was too much. She settled for sitting with her knees drawn up, a defensive posture. She kept her eyes on the tunnel entrance, a professional habit, but her awareness was split between the exit and the two women sharing her sanctuary.
Silva waddled over and sank down against the opposite wall with a long, exhausted sigh. The core inside her sloshed audibly as she settled. Becca plopped down cross-legged between them, fidgeting. The plug in her ass made sitting a delicate operation, and she adjusted her position with a slight wince.
An uneasy silence stretched, thick with unsaid things and shared humiliations. The only sounds were the faint hum of the floating sigils and the occasional wet, internal shift from Silva’s swollen womb.
Becca broke the quiet. “So… you’re here to destroy the sorceress?” she asked Korra, echoing the witch hunter’s earlier, growled declaration to the empty tunnel.
Korra’s head turned slowly. Her gray eyes assessed the cat-girl. “You’re not.”
“Nah,” Becca said, shrugging. Her green eyes were bright, naive. “I’m here for a wish. Seems fun. Silva wants her wings back.”
“It’s not ‘fun’,” Korra stated, her voice flat. “It’s a corruption. A trick. Every ‘gift’ this place gives comes with a chain.” Her hand moved unconsciously to rest on her stomach.
“Got that right,” Silva muttered. Her hand rubbed circles over her glowing tattoo. As she did, the slime core within her stirred, responding to the touch. A soft, wet sound emanated from between her legs as the internal pressure changed. She sucked in a sharp breath, her red skin flushing darker. “Damn thing’s restless.”
Korra watched, a clinical part of her mind noting the mechanics of the imp’s affliction. The core was clearly symbiotic, likely feeding on her arousal or her essence. Another form of bondage. Becca, meanwhile, was squirming again, her cheeks tinged pink.
“You got something stuck in you too, cat?” Korra asked, her tone not unkind, just weary.
Becca’s ears twitched. “A plug. From a chest. It… does stuff. It’s quiet now, though.”
“Until it isn’t,” Silva said, her voice strained. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, but her movement caused the slime within her to swell again. The connection to her transparent panties tightened, pulling her sex open. A soft, slick pop was audible in the quiet room. Silva’s breath hitched. Her tattoo flared a brighter, hotter pink.
The change in the air was instantaneous. The scent of burnt roses deepened, mixing with the palpable, salty-sweet smell of Silva’s arousal. The magical aura of the safe room seemed to thicken, caressing the skin. Korra felt a traitorous, unwelcome heat bloom low in her own abdomen, a dull echo of the forced pleasure the ovidor had wrung from her body. She despised it.
Becca squirmed more vigorously. “Uh oh,” she whispered. Her hand went to the back of her shorts. “Mine’s… waking up.”
A deep, resonant vibration began to emanate from Becca. The obsidian plug, dormant since the pendulum corridor, had reactivated. It wasn’t moving yet, but the deep thrum travelled through her body, making her teeth chatter slightly. “Shit. It’s getting warm.”
Silva groaned, her head falling back against the wall. The slime core, energized by the shared proximity and rising tension, began a slow, relentless pulse inside her. It was a full, invasive sensation, a thick, living mass rhythmically squeezing and releasing deep within her womb. The transparent tendril connecting it to her panties started to move in a lazy, sinuous rhythm, mimicking the internal motions.
“It’s the room,” Silva gasped, her slit pupils wide. “It feeds on… on this. On us being together like this.” Her words ended in a moan as the core gave a particularly strong internal thrust, spreading her wide open. Her cunt was visibly dripping now, wetness coating the inside of the translucent slime that formed her only clothing.
Korra wanted to stand, to leave, to fight the influence. But her body, weary and hormonally charged from her pregnancy, betrayed her. A familiar, hated wetness gathered between her own thighs. The memory of the ovidor’s forceful penetration flashed in her mind, but this time it was accompanied by a shocking, sharp bolt of need. She clenched her jaw so hard it ached.
“Can’t… can’t fight it every time,” Silva panted, her hands now clutching her own belly as if to hold the core still. It was futile. The slime was fucking her in earnest now, a slow, deep, maddening rhythm that made her hips jerk. “Just… gotta let it happen. Gets us out faster.”
Becca cried out, a short, sharp sound. The plug had begun to move. It twisted inside her, a corkscrew motion that stroked nerve endings she didn’t know she had. Her back arched. “Fuck! It’s turning!”
Korra watched, her own breath coming faster. The clinical part of her was gone, drowned in a rising tide of physical want. She saw Silva’s open, glistening sex, saw Becca’s helpless writhing, and her own untouched, aching cunt throbbed in sympathy. The labyrinth had them. It was pulling their strings, orchestrating this shared breakdown.
“This is… its design,” Korra forced out, her voice thick.
“Yeah,” Silva moaned in agreement, her eyes glazed. “So stop fighting it, hunter. Just… come over here.”
The invitation hung in the perfumed air. Korra’s resistance shattered. With a ragged groan of defeat, she pushed herself up from the bedroll. Her pregnant body felt heavy, sensitive, every step sending jolts through her. She crossed the short distance and knelt shakily beside Silva.
Silva’s red eyes held hers. There was no triumph there, only shared desperation. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing the tight, stretched skin of Korra’s lower belly, over the life stirring within. The touch was electric.
Korra flinched, then leaned into it. Her own hand moved, not with violence but with a clumsy need. She palmed the warm, taut curve of Silva’s belly, feeling the slime core shift and push against her hand from inside. It was obscenely intimate.
Becca scrambled over, driven by the frantic vibrations in her ass. She pressed herself against Korra’s back, her small hands sliding around to Korra’s front. One found a full, heavy breast, pinching the nipple. The other slid down Korra’s stomach, through her coarse blonde curls, and plunged two fingers into her soaked cunt.
Korra cried out, a raw, broken sound. It was the first touch she’d allowed herself since the ovidor, and her body convulsed around Becca’s fingers, starved for stimulation. She was impossibly wet, her passage hot and tight.
“See?” Silva whispered, her own hand moving down between her legs. She couldn’t penetrate herself—the core and its connecting slime filled her completely—but her fingers found her swollen clit. She circled it roughly as the core fucked her from the inside. “No fighting. Just… feeling.”
Korra’s head fell forward, her forehead resting against Silva’s shoulder. Becca’s fingers pistoned in and out of her, slick and urgent, while her other hand squeezed and rolled Korra’s nipple. The plug in Becca’s ass drilled relentlessly, and she rubbed herself against Korra’s back, her own wetness seeping through both their clothes.
It was a tangle of need, a messy convergence of three trapped bodies giving in. Korra’s hand, still on Silva’s belly, slid lower. Her fingers brushed against Silva’s dripping, stretched-open folds, feeling the impossible fullness of the slime within. She traced the tight ring of Silva’s entrance, stretched wide around the transparent tendril.
Silva gasped, her hips bucking. “Yes… there…”
Korra pushed a thumb inside alongside the slime, meeting the internal resistance of the core. Silva screamed, her orgasm triggered by the overwhelming fullness. Her cunt clenched and fluttered around the invader, her glowing tattoo blazing like a pink star. The slime core pulsed violently inside her, feeding on the climax.
The sounds and sensations pushed Becca over the edge. With a strangled shriek, she came, her body trembling against Korra’s back, her fingers stilling deep inside Korra’s pussy.
The sudden tightness around her fingers, the smell of sex saturating the air, the sight of Silva coming apart—it was too much for Korra. Her own orgasm ripped through her with a force that stole her vision. She ground herself down onto Becca’s hand, her pregnant body bowing with the intensity of it. Wave after wave of unwanted, undeniable pleasure racked her, each pulse a humiliation and a relief.
For a minute, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the wet, soft movements of their bodies untangling.
The plug in Becca’s ass stilled. The slime core inside Silva settled into a contented, heavy quiet. The oppressive, arousing aura of the room dissipated, leaving only the scent of their sweat and sex.
Korra pulled away first, Becca’s fingers slipping from her with a wet sound. She couldn’t meet their eyes. The shame was back, cold and clear now that the heat had faded. She had participated. She had come. The witch hunter, laid low by the very forces she sought to destroy.
She wiped her hand on the bedroll, her movements stiff.
Silva was the first to speak, her voice hoarse. “Told you. Faster.”
A grinding sound echoed from the far wall of the chamber. A section of the smooth obsidian slid away, revealing a new, dark passage. The way forward. The labyrinth’s reward for their compliance.
Korra looked at the open door, then down at her own filthy, pleasured body. She felt the ovidor pups kick, a reminder of her first defeat. This was the second.
Becca bounced up, the plug in her ass now just an annoying knickknack, and darted toward the new passage with her characteristic, restless energy. Korra and Silva, however, weighed down by the profound heaviness of their swollen wombs, could only slump onto the bedroll in a heap of exhausted limbs, their bodies demanding rest.
Becca peered into the new passage, then glanced back at their spent forms. “Well, I’m gonna scout ahead—try not to get knotted by anything else,” she said with a wink before skipping into the dark. The heavy, womb-deep exhaustion from the labyrinth’s forced climax finally pulled Korra and Silva into a sudden, dreamless oblivion.