Althea's womb blossoms with corruption.

Althea squirmed and writhed beneath the gaunt fanatic's touch. The bony fingers held fast. When the four plagued cultists holding Althea's ankles began chanting in the dark forbidden tongue of demons, the young acolyte darted her frightened gaze amongst them. Whirling like heatless flames, the black light wreathed the woman's claws, but suddenly the accursed energy plunged into the priestess' navel. To Althea's astonishment, she felt no pain. Instead a dull itch spread outward from her belly button. "What? What's happening to me?!" the young cleric cried out. Craning her neck, she looked down to see the dreaded patchwork of black mold appearing in small spots around her navel. They almost looked like birthmarks, they were so small. But they were there all the same, and there were nine of them. Just like the nine glowing rings around the altar. And in that moment she recalled the association of the number nine with ****... Nihilipox, could that be the name of the demon lord of undeath? Though she wanted to delve deeper the memories from her studies in the temple library, another spiking sensation tore her from her thoughts.

"Behold, brothers and sisters. Did I not tell you the girl was chosen by our lord?" the grating, sore voice of the pregnant, saggy-breasted cultist announced to her comrades. Their chanting doubled in fervor, and the shadows in the room coiled and twisted in unnatural angles, as if they reached toward Althea from the walls like grasping, black tendrils. The fanatic's shriveled, black lips parted to reveal a smile of needle-like fangs. This woman was barely human. "Fret not, little one. For you see," she lifted her hand and gestured toward Althea's belly button, "you bear the mark of our lord and master, Nihilipox. Rejoice! You have earned the honor of becoming the first cryptmother in nearly three hundred years!" she let loose a haunting cackled but cut short to rattle out another cough, spitting a wad of black ichor onto the dark, stone floor.

"Cryptmother? What in the golden light of Helestria is that?" the restrained acolyte asked, but before she could get an answer, she and the cult fanatic groaned in anguish. Pain wracked their bellies simultaneously, but their reactions differed entirely. A shrill scream cracked Althea's voice as her belly bulged outward an inch. "Aaaagghh! By the Hearthmother, why! Ungh--ohhh it's stretching me from the inside out!" One of the nine black spots blossomed to the size of a marble, and bore a striking resemblance to a human skull. In harmony, the cultist's belly shrunk slightly, the black veins throbbing in time with her manic heartrate. She leaned a bony claw on the altar beside Althea's hip and looked down at her. She loomed even closer, her grotesque, swollen gut hovering inches away from Althea's nearly flat tummy.

"It is a gift. Blessed with the master's mark, you will grow in power. Your body shall become the ultimate vessel of unlife." The cultist laughed with a sick croak in her throat. Another spike of pain, and this time Althea resisted screaming, instead scrunching her eyes shut and clenching her teeth. She still uttered a low, whining growl of agony, but it somehow felt... tingly? Gazing down, she discerned an observable swell to her middle. A small dome with its apex at her encircled navel. A second spot bore the image of a skull. "The fruit of your loins will usher in legions of obedient undead. And with them, we will conquer this pathetic realm and raze your temples to the ground." Althea panted, her petite chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her naked, unblemished body shone with sweat as a feverish heat flared in her veins. Could this be the ritual's corruption? Did they cast some manner of curse upon her? Althea tried to focus and anticipate the endgoal of the horrific cult, but with each burst of pain and lingering warmth, her mind spun out of control.

A vision flashed before her eyes. She stood as she was, nearly nude in her belly-slashed robe and slightly bloated tummy in a dark, foggy, silent orchard. Every tree in sight appeared ghoulishly ill or possibly not even alive at all. Some withered and dry husks gnarled into nightmarish shapes, others malignant with fungal tumors and rot, belching ooze and spores. Althea walked amidst them, feeling the soft, swampy earth between her toes. But then the voices of the chanting cultists returned, growing in volume. As they reached a near deafening level, she clasped her hands over her ears. And then the orchard quaked. Althea felt skeletal hands reach up and seize her ankles. They erupted out of the boggy orchard ground itself and immediately began attempting to pull her under. Though she tried to scream, no sound came out of her mouth. All she could hear was the sound of the crackling bony limbs and the shifting of fetid swampland beneath her. Blanketed in fog, the terrified acolyte flailed and sank into the muck.

The vision vanished and she was again on the altar. But now, she felt her limbs freed. The cultists had released her, and she awoke atop the altar. Althea glanced around, seeing no one in the chamber with her. Her tear-streaked eyes darted to her belly, and the horror sunk in. Despite her inexplicable solitude, Althea had indeed suffered through the ominous ritual. Trembling hands cupped the sides of her belly. It jutted out a noticeable distance from her body, and the bloating looked like a young woman near the end of her first trimester. She noticed no other growth, and the only other change was the seemingly permanent mark of Nihilipox. By her count, three of the nine spots had become skulls. Althea sighed softly. At least the pain had subsided. Now she just felt... full. But also empty? Perhaps the ritual consumed her energy because she felt famished. When the young, nearly naked priestess sat upright on the altar, she noticed the true weight of her belly. Even though it wasn't very big, it felt like she was carrying a stone inside her. And then it twitched. Wide-eyed with panic and wonderment, Althea gingerly pressed her palm and fingers to the underside of her belly, squishing it in a little. Not a moment later, something that felt like a small eel squirmed beneath her touch. The cleric recoiled, and nearly lost her balance atop the stone slab.

"Mph... no time to lose. I'd better find my way out of this place before they come back..." Althea groaned and rose to her feet with mild difficulty. They had taken her broken broomstick, but a glint of metal near the outer wall of the chamber caught Althea's eye. "What is that?" she murmured and padded closer, wary of each step with her soft-soled bare feet. Upon closer inspection, she discovers it's one of the cult's hooked ritual daggers. It was no sacred smiting mace, but it would suffice. Althea swiped up the blade and held it firmly in one hand; the other unknowingly rested atop the slight swell of her middle.