Feign injury and plead for help.

With only moments until they discovered you, you decide to tuck your grimoire into your pack and quickly tear one of the sleeves on your robe. This next part would hurt, but you hope you can rely on the kindness of strangers. Unsheathing your dagger, you carefully slice it across the back of your arm. You quickly begin bleeding, and you smear it across your robes and face to add to your frantic disguise. Wiping off the blade, you tuck it away and shuffle out from behind the corner, offering a convincing groan while clutching your stomach.

"By the light of divine!" the man calls out, rushing to your side, "Elizabeth, fetch the bandages from my pouch--quickly!" he orders, and she obliges, sheathing her longsword before digging through the man's embroidered backpack. You wave your hand dismissively and point behind you toward your camp.

"Gah-- please hurry! The monsters did something horrible to my beloved wife!" you ham it up, playing the role of the pitiful coward. You grit your teeth, masking your gleeful duplicity, "This place is cursed!" you add for flavor. The warrior named Elizabeth presses a linen gauze to your arm and nods to her companion. He brandishes his torch and continues toward the camp of slumbering bandit women. Your eyes wander over your current healer. She could make for excellent breeding stock, but you needed to know more. If she was a mere mercenary then she could be swayed, but if she was a member of the man's church, her ideals may be a bit more steadfast and far more difficult to bend.

"Easy now, we're here. We can help," she murmurs, wrapping the linen strip around your forearm. Her eyes lock with yours, and you open your mouth to speak, but are cut off by the cleric calling his comrade to his side. She breaks eye contact, hands you the linen, and rushes out of the hallway toward your camp. The next steps would be crucial, or your entire plan could fall apart. Rising to your feet, you procure your grimoire from the backpack and follow the pair of adventurers.

"By all that is holy... what happened here?" the cleric holds up his prayer book, glowing mace still held aloft like a beaming torch of his faith, and Elizabeth circles around the campsite with a hand on her sheathed longsword, scanning the perimeter before returning to his side. Both look down upon the immensely bloated Rosaria who-- like Beatrice and Helen-- remains fast asleep.

"We were attacked by horrible creatures, and they won't wake up," you lie, but the older man seems to take the bait. He eyes the statue of Dagon and lowers his mace before dropping to a knee beside Rosaria, placing a hand to her belly. It rumbles and recoils at the holy man's touch, causing the woman's **** body to rock side-to-side. He begins reciting a cleansing prayer, and you grasp your grimoire before murmuring your own words of power. A violet spark flashes in Elizabeth's eyes as the Charm spell takes hold, and she looks to you with a slightly vacant expression. "Please, our friend went missing. Could you go check outside by the lake?" you whisper to her, and she nods in silent compliance. Wandering off, Elizabeth leaves the two of you alone with the **** women. The cleric has his back to you, and you seize your opportunity. Slinking up behind him, you draw your dagger across his throat mid-prayer. A shower of scarlet blood sprays across Rosaria, sizzling wherever it makes contact with her belly. The sanctified interloper drops in a gasping, **** heap at your feet, and you wipe off his blood on your sleeve.

In that moment, Rosaria elicits a pained groan, one of her hands splaying across the side of her bloated stomach. You can see the veins darkening beneath her skin, and the unborn demons' undulating movements become more erratic than ever, bulging and stretching from within.