Lair of the Cryptmother Ch. 9 [Dark Fantasy][Body Horror][Light Gore][Noncon][Breeding][Preg][Birth]

**”False Deliverance”**

Many questions plagued her mind as to how she regained her powers, and why now, but Althea knew this was her chance. Emboldened by her rekindled light, the priestess stretched forth her hand toward Ivan. “By the light of Helestria, be purged in holy fire!” she shouted. The light gathered in her hand blossomed, momentarily blinding her captors. A bolt of white light leapt from Althea’s palm and flew clean through Ivan’s skull, leaving a smoldering hole in its wake. One down, four to go. The priestess watched the others rub their eyes as she staggered to her feet; an act made all the more difficult by her hunger and heavily-ripened womb. There was a clear path to the door, but she doubted she could outrun all of them in her current state. And so the priestess raised her hand toward the blister-crowned Andre. Alas, before she could cast another spell, Izaac seized hold of her stretched arm. When she tried to gather light in the other hand, that arm was grabbed by Felix. “Let me go, you monsters! Get off of me!”

“Well, I have to hand it to you, girl. I suspected you might try something, but I had no idea you were so powerful,” Andre said, looking genuinely impressed. Althea continued struggling against her captors with a zeal yet unseen. “We knew that elixir would restore your divine connection, but it seems you got your fighting spirit back as well,” the big man gloated. Like a cornered dog, Althea still refused surrender as she grabbed onto the arms of the men holding her. She opened her mouth and was about to invoke another spell when Andre rushed forward and stuffed a dirty rag into her mouth. Still not the worst taste yet, but it was clearly soaked in unwashed sweat. He then wrapped a strip of cloth around her head, fashioning both pieces into a makeshift gag. “Now, now. I think that’s enough trouble for one day. Soon you’ll be too exhausted to fight anyway.” No sooner than Andre finished speaking, Althea felt a sharp pang in her tummy. The pain wracked her body, and she nearly went limp in the men’s arms. This was obviously not the first movement or discomfort she’d endured, but this was different. It felt worse, and it felt lower. And that’s when she remembered her training. Althea had just felt her first contraction. “Judging by the look on your face, you know what’s coming,” Andre bore another yellow smile. “There’s a reason you swallowed my spores before drinking that potion. Right now it’s all mixing together in that fat belly of yours. We needed juuust enough of your magic intact to usher in the birth of the heir, and a puff of my own ‘gift’ to help you onto the next stage. Don’t worry, girl, you’re going to enjoy yourself… eventually.”

“Iz it my turn yet?” Edgar grumbled, still blinking hard after the blinding light. Though it could also have been from the fly perched on his eyelid. Andre gave him an affirming nod and stepped away from the pained priestess. He gestured to Izaac and Felix who then turned her around and guided her onto all fours. She stooped on hands and knees like bloated livestock, her spasming belly grazing the tops of her thighs. Rancid milk dripped onto the floor beneath her, pooling on the floorspace between her hands. With the girl in position, Edgar appraoched from behind. She could hear the soft splats of maggots falling to the stone floor in his wake. Now he too unfastened his waistcord.

Althea’s neck began aching as she struggled to gaze back over her shoulder at the fly-covered man behind her. The young priestess had lived in ignorance to the horrors of Nihilipox and his sycophants for most of her life. And even though she had only just recently glimpsed a sweeping menagerie of unspeakable abominations, she was not prepared for this sight. Mold had become a norm, pustules became expected, even tentacles and maggots now caused her only a modicum of fright or disgust. But as Edgar’s robes parted, Althea beheld a new horror.

Holes. So many holes. From the base of his ribcage down to his pelvis, Edgar sported a small, pale potbelly covered in a honeycomb of gaping fleshy holes. Each one resembled the pore of one’s skin stretched to the width of a fingernail, but the meat lining these holes was black with corruption. He looked not unlike the sponges she once used to wash the temple floor, so full of these puckering holes. And as if reacting to her disgust, Edgar shivered in the nude and summoned a rainfall of maggots. The fat, white worms nested beneath his skin and began tumbling forth like a herd of lemmings. They fell from his middle before flopping to the floor in a strewn disarray, like a nightmarish parody of showering rose petals on a lover’s bed. The shock and horror must have been plastered on Althea’s face, for Edgar only leered lewdly at the young woman prostrated before him.

“Zee zomething you like, my zweet?” the vile man chuckled. Flies swarmed around his head and a dark, lusty fire burned behind his eyes. Only in this moment did Althea realize who among this group was truly the most powerful. Ivan had possessed brute strength, Andre was the largest and most aggressive… but a malevolence loomed in Edgar’s shadow, chilling Althea to the bone. Althea would have called out for her goddess to protect her, were she still not gagged. Even with her magic restored, she felt the flames of her faith flicker and waver beneath the oppressive shadow tainting this man’s soul. Edgar took another step toward her, and now she felt one–two–three maggots plop down onto her lower back. Immediately, they began inching their way toward her chest, to sup at her wretched milk, no doubt. “The time haz come, prieztezz. Rejoize, for I shall dezpoil you in the name of Nihilipoxz.”

Althea squirmed in futility, but the two men held her in place. Edgar dropped to his knees with a thud, shaking loose another half-dozen maggots or so. Some landed on her back, others on her legs and feet. And as they writhed upon her flesh, she felt a second stabbing pain ripple throughout the lower half of her swollen belly. Althea grunted into the gag and twin jets of putrid milk added to the growing puddle of sour nourishment beneath her. Her middle stretched and warped, but it felt as though the beast within danced in celebration rather than violent thrashing. Nonetheless, it remained active in its anticipation of birth. Edgar positioned himself behind her, and the priestess could feel his cold, lifeless skin press against her backside. Was this man even alive? Could the cult have created some sort of sentient undead? Before she could continue her train of thought, she felt something long, cold and porous flop down into the crack of her ass. No… it couldn’t be… Althea looked back once more to see his gray, hole-ridden cock resting at the ready, perched between her ass cheeks.

Then the fly-covered cultist did something unexpected. He leaned over her and reached a hand down to press against the side of her belly. Stranger still, he let out a soft, hush of consolation. “Zoon, my prinze,” Edgar cooed, “Zoon you will enter thiz world and claim it for your father.” His dark eyes locked with Althea’s. “Zoon you will plant your own zeeds at the root of your family tree,” he added ominously before giving Althea’s tummy a gentle pat. As if in understanding, the spawn pressed back against Edgar’s hand, and it sent a jolt of sudden warmth to Althea’s core. “For now, my zweet, I will initiate you into a life of blizz and pleazure beyond your wildezt dreamz.” The latticed cultist buzzed a chuckle that was joined by the other three. “Paint me a magic zircle, ladz.” Edgar commanded before slapping a cold, cupped hand against the curve of Althea’s rump. “I want to hear our little zweetnezz beg for my zquirming giftz.”

Felix and Izaac each plucked a strange stick of glowing green chalk from within their robes and set to work inscribing glyphs and sigils in a circle around the two imminent lovers. This was wrong. She had read about magic circles and how they are often used in binding or transformational rituals. Was their intent to keep her still? Or did they seek to change her? And if the latter, change her into what? And almost as quickly as they began, the two fly-like cultists finished their final runes at the same time. The green chalk lit up like torchlight before changing into a deep indigo color. What could it mean? In that moment, Edgar bent forward and untied her gag. He then grabbed hold of the base of her breast, giving it a rough squeeze. “Mmm, you are zuch a zplendid zpezimen. It’z quite the shame that I’ll never get to zee your full potential.” Wait, what did he mean by that? These monstrous cultists mentioned a ritual later, but they took action early. Did they seek to kill her? Althea’s mind reeled, and when she tried to crawl away from the honeycombed man, she felt her face bump up against an invisible wall. The priestess slapped a hand forward and it also collided with the unseen force. She was trapped in the circle. Trapped with him. “Now, now. Zhere’z no rush, my zweet. Let uz join together and bring the heir of Nihilipoxz into the world.”

“Please, spare me. I don’t want to die,” Althea begged. She sat curled up against the wall of the circle. There was hardly any room within the magical array, but she tried to stay as far from him as possible. Edgar let out an inhuman laugh, like a swarm of hundreds of flies. Althea’s eyes lowered to his groin, only to notice his cock had hardened and nearly doubled in size. Worse, the swelling left a number of the maggots peeping their heads out of the holes lining his cock. They all wriggled with anticipation of nesting within her depths.

“You are not going to die, zweet girl. You are going to be reborn. For you are a Bride of Nihilipox,” Edgar explained. He rose to his feet, casting a handful of maggots to the ground from the sudden motion. “Andre prepared you with hiz burzt of zporez, but my gift, along with goddezz tearz you drank, will initiate your umbral baptizm.” So the circle was to bind her, and their combined cruelty was to change her. The flames of Althea’s faith wavered, only to redouble in vigor. She was unbound and once again had her voice. If these goddess tears of which he spoke rekindled her connection to Helestria, then the sacred mother would surely aid her in striking down this horrid man. Althea also rose to her feet, but Edgar simply crossed his arms over his chest. Three more maggots plopped atop his feet. “Do you zurrender yourzelf to the pleazure and glory of Nihilipoxz?” Even as he asked, Althea felt another contraction tear through tummy. They were coming so quickly now. Would she even be able to escape the cult’s lair before going into labor?

Althea clutched her belly, not to shelter the monstrous thing inside, but to squeeze down on her burdensome dome of flesh and suppress the arrival of the demon lord’s spawn… her baby. No, there was no time to dwell on that now. Helestria’s light burned bright within Althea’s heart, and the time to act was now. She turned inward and tapped into that well of warm light within. “Mother goddess, may your light shine the path before me and compel undeath to flee.” Althea stretched forth her hand and pulses of amber light blossomed in her palm. By raising her hand aloft in thanks to Helestria, she cast the spell–and then **pain**.

So much pain! Althea doubled over and watched the light in her trembling hand waver, before a serpentine wisp of yellow-green smoke overwhelmed its divine radiance entirely. Synchronized anguish brought Althea back to her knees. Her palm burned like it had been stuck with a hot poker, and the rippling contractions returned exponentially worse. Splosh! And then a warm wetness pooled beneath Althea’s bare backside and between her thighs. Helestria, no–her water just broke.

“Ha! It haz begun. Exzactly az exzpected,” Edgar taunted and folded his arms. Slime-slick larva continued showering his dirty, pale feet as he watched her suffering. Althea leaned back against the invisible wall for support and sat in a low squat as she had instructed dozens of women during her training to be a priestess and a midwife. As much as she wished to avoid the birth entirely, perhaps getting it over with would be for the best. Perhaps then she would have peace. Breathing, that was the next thing. She took steady, deep breaths and adjusted the position of her hips.

“Ngh!” Althea grunted with the first clear breach of her cervix. Her womanhood had been certainly tested and stretched by the numerous zombies and the ogre, but whatever now descended into her canal still strained at her youthful tightness. And was that a tentacle? Whatever now squirmed inside her certainly didn’t feel like anything that a human ought to have–another pang of pain! Althea’s brows scrunched together as beads of sweat coated her dirty, stained body. She felt like a pig in squallor, with these men laughing at her maternal grunting. More pressure, and a another appendage spread the taught ring of muscle sealing her womb. This felt like a human baby’s arm, at least.

“Come on, girlie, push like you mean it!” Andre barked as he leaned against the wall. Edgar, the only one inside the magic circle with her, now approached and dropped to a knee in front of the crouched, trembling girl. Birthing fluid still dripped from her twitching pussy lips, but this didn’t stop Edgar from pressing his cold fingers against her labia. She watched a fly crawl out of his grinning mouth and into one nostril. Then his fingers pushed inside. Wait, no! This wasn’t part of the birthing process. But before she could object, Edgar’s hand plunged into her womanhood up to the knuckles, and he seized hold of the thrashing tentacle.

“There you are, my prinze,” he chortled and began tugging. Another pang of discomfort rocked Althea, and in that moment she felt the weighty bulk of her inhuman child’s form descend toward her birthing canal. In-and-out, Althea kept her mind on her breathing even with the vile cultist’s fingers inside her. He tugged again, and the pregnant priestess felt an intense pressure building up against the inside of her cervix.

“Angh! W-Wait! Let me just–mmph–let me pusshhhh,” Althea groaned as her sweat-slick hair clung to her face and chest. Each breath made her breasts rise and fall, dribbling more of her spoiled milk down her front. When the pain reached its peak and she felt that she might black out from its intensity, there came a distinct pop from her womb. A second tide of birthing fluid splashed between her shaking ankles, and her spawn flopped out of her gaping, abused cunt. “F-fuuuckk…” she cursed, sliding down the wall into a wet, exhausted heap. Her eyes remained closed with the labored breathing, as she refused to open them and see what abomination she had just birthed into the dim light of this dank dungeon.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/kbwyvm/lair_of_the_cryptmother_ch_9_dark_fantasybody