Fastball Special!

Elizabeth maintains her masterful defenses and parries or dodges every blow thrown at her by the hulking, axe-wielding bandit. Helen is still knocked out cold, and after the adventuring knight landed a second slash across Beatrice's thigh, it's quickly becoming clear that Elizabeth's skill is too great for the brute to overcome singlehandedly. The visibility remains low in the ruins of the stony temple, and the clashing steel sparked with each decisive impact. You wonder if more light would help Beatrice gain the upper hand, and that's when your fingers fumble over a lump in your satchel. The driftglobe... An idea sparks in your mind, and you sneak along the edge of the room while palming the small, heart-sized magic item. Your thumb traces anxious circles along the activation button, but you decide to wait for the right opportunity.

"Surrender now and I'll make your **** swift, fiend!" Elizabeth chastises her burly opponent and swings her longsword upward in a flash, carving a new red streak across the bandit's flank. It draws blood but looks shallow enough to heal in time. No mortal wounds yet, but each attack from the knight comes closer and closer to ending the fight.

"What did you do to my friend, you monster?!" Beatrice roars and swats the longsword aside with the back of her armored gauntlet before planting a heavy boot into Elizabeth's breastplate. You can actually see it cave in a portion of the steel, but still Elizabeth remains on her feet.

"Your friend? Ha! You cannot deceive me, heathen!" Elizabeth wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth and tightens her grip on the longsword. This was getting risky. The more they talk, the greater the chance that your entire charade will fall to pieces. It was now or never.

With the driftglobe in hand, you take a ready stance with the orb clasped behind you, eyes locked on your target. Throwing had never been one of your specialties, but your pray to Grevakhnu for your aim to be true. Pursing your lips, you let out a sharp whistle. The sudden noise causes both Beatrice and Elizabeth to falter in their skirmish. Just in time for the driftglobe to soar through the air toward the knight. At the last possible moment, it activates. A flash of blinding, bright light erupts directly in front of the knight's face, filling the chamber with its white radiance. Elizabeth lets out a hiss and drops her sword to rub her eyes. Thankfully, Beatrice takes the hint and spins on her heel, swinging the axe around in a furious arc. Shlunk! The blow lands with a sickening, gory crunch. You blink through the blinding aftermath of your brilliant idea and see Elizabeth clutching in vain at the axehead lodged in her stomach. You can't help but be impressed. For all her barbarism, Beatrice landed a critical hit between the plates of the knight's armor, and now a river of blood begins gathering at the Elizabeth's feet.

"Angh... why... goddess... protect me..." Elizabeth groans and coughs up a mess of blood before dropping to her knees. Beatrice just spits on the ground in triumph before ripping her axe from her enemy's guts. And with a final breath, the knight perishes in her own eeking lifeblood. A shame, you think. She would have made a fine addition to your future harem, but you suspect that she, like Rosaria, would have asked far too many questions. The adrenaline of battle at last ebbs, and you are granted a moment to collect your thoughts. After all, you still have a demonic pregnancy with which you must contend.

"Ugh, good work, Beatrice," you grunt to exaggerate your nonexistent injuries. The sound of stirring catches your attention, and Helen finally rouses from the impact with the pillar. You are relieved to see she's mostly unharmed, but another rumbling gurgle draws everyone's eyes to Rosaria's trembling, fecund figure. Her knees are bent, legs apart, as this is the only position they can afford while cradling such a turbulent expanse of flesh and spawn. Your sleep spell should have worn off by now, but it seems she remains trapped in a coma-like state, only able to afford a sickening belch or groan of discomfort in oblivious protest to her continuing, grotesque transformation.

"Rose!" Helen yelps helplessly. She rushes to the brunette bandit's side, her innocent eyes wide with terror. "Lord Mendax, isn't there anything you can do to help her?!" the waifish rogue looks up to you with pleading eyes. You know a number of spells and rituals that could delay the inevitable birthing, but the thought of discreetly transporting the gravid bandit seemed less than appealing. Then again, if Rosaria perished from the birthing, then you still run the risk of losing clout with her comrades. Would it be better to finish the ritual here and now? Or should you try to move her to the nearest settlement?