The Rescue

The journey between worlds is just as disorienting as you remember it, your tongue still buzzing and the faint taste of vomit lingering in your ears as your body reenters reality and your senses snap back to their proper locations. There's no time to waste, though, so the very moment your eyes fully revert to sight rather than smell you're doing what you can to get a handle on the situation.

It doesn't look good. The Taco Bell is in chaos.

A small army of elves, looking as serious as anyone wearing various basketball jerseys over fantasy style armor can possibly look, have cordoned off the fast food worship building. The wooden faux cars that normally circle the drive through have all been abandoned, a few stony-faced elves nodding along and scribbling down notes as the birds and squirrels and other assorted woodland creatures that were their drivers give statements. It could not be clearer that Gal has passed through this way.

Isabelle grabs hold of your arm as you find yourself quickly surrounded by the official-looking elves, though to your relief you are soon recognized. "It's them! The Queen's friends!"

Okay good, because there's no way you have time to waste winning anyone over. "Is Donna alright? Where did she take her?"

A tall elf in a Utah Jazz jersey steps forward to shepherd you away from the din of the scene, her tone clipped as she brings you up to speed. "The naked girl came through maybe ten minutes before you. Caught us with our Bell-damned pants down; this was the worst possible moment. We literally just found out who Princess Di is and also about Princess Di's **** and everyone was in a real mood." The elf's eyes writhe with disgust for her own negligence. "Before we knew what was going on, she'd injured both of the guards on duty. Then she demanded passage into the city, and threatened to kill Her Majesty if we followed. She even dropped a civilian to keep us busy as a parting gift."

"She did?"

The elf indicates back towards the Taco Bell with a jerk of her head. Nearly hidden behind all the tumult, you manage to spot the drive through attendant, her face buried in her hands as a very small blanket is carefully draped over a very still frog. You think her name is Nlossae. The elf guard gets straight to the point. "Are you going after her? Can you save the Queen?!"

Isabelle catches your eyes with hers, her hands balled into shaking fists. "We are. She wants us, not Donna."

"Whoever she wants, she's got our Queen." The guard claps her hands, and the doorway to the elven city splits its way out of a large tree. "And she also has a huge head start."

"You're right." You cock your thumb towards one of the ersatz cars. "Those aren't stick shift, right?"

During your first visit to the home of the elves, you found it an odd place, a strange mash-up of splendid Tolkien-esque trappings and Saved by the Bell fashions. Now, though, with its shimmering streets empty and bedazzled doorways shuttered, it's taken on a grim air that is singularly disturbing. The royal guard must have gotten the word out for everyone to stay out of Gal's way. At least it isn't hard to find her trail. You just follow the path of wrecked shit.

Isabelle mimes turning your ride's non-functional steering wheel, the bright pink hunk of car-shaped wood swerving around a pile of shattered glass. "How does she even know about this place? And what could she possibly want?!"

"No idea on the first part." God, can't this giant soapbox derby car go any faster? "I've got an idea on the second."

"Really? Where?"

"Look where she's leading us."

You lean forward, pointing towards the large doors built into the foundation of Donna's castle. Isabelle inhales sharply. "Oh. That leads under the castle, doesn't it."

"Yes."

"So she's after--?"

"I think so."

"Fuck." Isabelle skids the car to a halt just outside the passage to the underground complex. "Is there any way this ends well?"

"Only one way to find out."

The descent deeper and deeper below the castle was plenty ominous the first time, and you don't find the experience at all improved by knowing exactly what's there to greet you at the bottom. Sure enough, there are the heavy double doors that greeted you on your first visit, though now they've been thrown wide open with their sturdy chains and locks undone. Your heart leaps in your chest when you spot the still-**** Donna, cradled in the arms of two diving suit clad attendants as they tremble in the corner of the room. She's still alive, you know it.

And at the center of it all is Gal, eyes wide and mouth drooling as she takes in the obscene majesty of the Great Mother.

The cottage-sized mass of breast and genital flesh that was once a human woman appears to be sleeping, both her and her similarly overburdened mate audibly snoring. But it appears that even in sleep, there's no escaping the demands of her Ardored body. Tits larger than most people continue to gush twin rivers of milk, while the obscene swelling clenched between her elephantine thighs shudders and sprays a mist of thick cum at whatever it is the Great Mother dreams of.

You can't help recoiling when Gal lets out a little giggle. "So this is the truth behind your coven. How wonderfully disgusting." The witch's hand shoots up when you take a step forward, something that could only be a detonator gripped in her fist. "You're good there, Ashley."

Isabelle calls out, and you have no idea how she manages to keep her tone so conciliatory. "Let Donna and the attendants go. There's no need for them to be here."

Gal bobs her head to one side. 'Mmmmmnah. I want them here."

This fucking asshole. You don't even try to match Isabelle's tone. "Here for what? Do you honestly think I can't protect them? And the two of us? All you've succeeded in doing is giving yourself nowhere to run."

"There you go again. Thinking I'm stupid." You tense up as Gal whirls around on you, tapping the detonator against her head in a display of reckless abandon. "How the fuck do you think you're going to shield anyone when your magic's gone?" The witch must like something in your reaction to that, because she plows on. "That lucky lady,"--she waves the detonator back towards the intensely sexualized woman behind her--"Is your 'Great Mother', right? When she goes, so does your magic. And so do all of us."

Isabelle's doing her best to keep Gal talking. "You don't know that. You can't know that."

"'Oh, you can't know that blah blah blah!' That's you. That's what you sound like." Gal spits in sheer disgust before continuing on. "She's the real leader of your coven, isn't she? And I'd bet anything she never formally passed the reins to you. That means A!"--She flips up one middle finger--"You are just borrowing your power from her, and B!"--She throws up the other bird--"You can't affect her with anything besides the most primal of magic. Your fucking little safety bubbles won't cut it. It's like I said, Ash: when she goes, we all go."

You have no idea if she's right. You also have no idea what you're going to do. Isabelle, at least, isn't ready to give up. "You're really going to kill yourself, just in the theory that it will hurt us? Let us help you. We will help you if you just let us."

Gal's voice cracks, clearly unused to the amount of person-to-person communication she's had to suffer through the last twenty four hours. "I'd rather die than have everyone see me. I'd rather kill than feel this empty for even one more second. And I'd rather hurt you than help myself. Peace out, y'all." With that, she raises the detonator above her head, and your hand finds Isabelle's.

But a moment later, Gal's still standing there, arm raised. Is she...stuck? You and Isabelle exchange baffled looks, only to jump as the feral witch lets out a strangled noise. She staggers further back into the room and then drops to her knees, her face a mask of cold shock as the detonator clatters to the ground. Her eyes screw shut as she lets out a warbling moan, then immediately shoot back open. "I feeeeee~" Her words trail off in pleasured whine that dovetails into a shriek, a heavy splattering sound filling the chamber. "I can feeeel it! I, uhnnn~, I feel so gooo~ood, sogoodsogood--!" Her babbling words melt into noises of bliss as her eyes roll back into her head, utter joy painted across every inch of her face as she starts to grow.

It starts fast, and doesn't stop. Gal's already substantial breasts are soon big enough to begin lifting her off of the ground, animal grunts and squeals bubbling out of her bloating lips. More and more breast flesh swells out from her plush body even as her hips spread further and further past her shoulders and her enormous ass billows outward like it has a hose attached to it. By the time her growth has seemingly ended, she can't even reach the ground with her tiptoes anymore, her comically small body anchored atop boobs individually bigger than she is by the widest hips and largest rear you've ever seen. Her ottoman-sized nipples begin to sputter and spew a new river of milk down the Great Mother's already taxed drain, an equally heavy river of fluid gushing down her thighs as her previously burnt out pussy eagerly makes up for lost time. And caught in the middle of it all, Gal, or Nell, or whoever she was, seems content, dazedly running her comparatively tiny hands over her newly grown vastness as she coos in satisfaction.

Isabelle rubs her palm against an eye, looking as if she's strongly considering the merits of passing out. "That wasn't you, was it?"

"Um, no."

"Did you see any milk or cum splash onto her?"

"Not a drop."

"Then how? She's clearly been Ardored. So what could...have..." She trails off as the more intrepid of the two attendants secures the bomb, rushing past the two of you to take it far away. "The bomb. It happened when she tried to set off the bomb."

"But why would that..."Isabelle's eyes are wide, the girl quickly nodding as she sees that you've reached the same conclusion as her. "Holy shit. The war. The Family Taboo. So that means...?"

You let the question hang there as both of you look over the immobile form of the Great Mother in a new light. Is it really possible? You feel Isabelle's hands on your shoulders as she quietly whispers into your ears. "Okay, Ash. Let's try it. I'll talk you through the ritual."

There's no need to ask which ritual she means. "I'm ready."

"I want you to close your eyes, and focus on your heartbeat." You comply, Isabelle waiting for your breath to fall into sync with the beating in your chest before she continues on. "Now. Visualize reaching out with your power, as if you're going to create a new rune. Fundamentally, that magic creates a new relationship between you and something else. But that's not what your goal here is. Instead of making a new bond, try and find the bonds that already exist. Can you do that?"

It's not something you've tried before, but you've created enough wards at this point that you don't have trouble recreating the feeling the process gives you. And sure enough, there are faint sensations all around you, so subtle they would normally be drowned out by the tidal wave of your power. The clearest by far must be Isabelle, a bright red tone of flowery fire, but there's the bubbling blue of Donna as well, not as vivid but still potent. You're vaguely aware of the second attendant's presence, but there's no flavor or sound to it; the bond simply isn't there. And floating above it all is what can only be your target, vast and unfamiliar and tasting of purple and pale peach, like the precise moment before the coming of dusk. You don't know this person, but somehow your bond is deeper and stronger than even the one with Isabelle. "I...I think I've got it. I know I do."

Isabelle squeezes your shoulders and doesn't let go. "Hold onto it. Hold onto it as tightly as you can, and open yourself to the Ardor. I love you."

"I love you, too." You reach out blindly, so full of the endless sunset of the unfamiliar bond that it stifles your senses, and draw upon the primal powers of your coven. Three flares of inexorable power burn their way into your mind's eye, but it's so clear now that just one of them is linked to you. Like calls to like, and the power of the Ardor rushes into you.

For a brief moment, you're standing on the surface of the Sun. Every hair on your body crackles with energy as you are submerged in a deluge of ravenous power, boiling hot and delicious as it demands your surrender. And you would, without a moment's hesitation, if not for the **** grip you and your newfound bond have on one another. The Ardor doubles in intensity, then triples, then quadruples, burning itself out in its mindless need to consume you. And through it all, your personal sunset protects you, the flaming power flicking away into gentle nothingness with every attempt at battering through.

When the last of your sunset has been used up, fading away from your soul with a soothing caress, there are only two flares of power left. In the third's place is your sea of purple and pale peach, flickering and weak but unquestionably there. You shakily open your eyes again, wondering what you're going to say to the Great Mother. Her name would probably be the polite thing. Or maybe how she's related to you, actually. Because that seems...

...um, because that seems off. Because you're just now remembering the actual terms you and Beatrix had set, and the Family Taboo is only in effect for family very closely related to you. And you're trying to figure how the Great Mother could fit that snugly into your family tree and keep coming up short. You're starting to think that Gal should have been able to blow her up, no problem. So why--

Your dizzy musings are interrupted when the Great Mother's male collateral damage staggers to his feet, swaying unsteadily in an attempt to balance his massive bulk on his relatively tiny legs. He releases a low groan, and then begins to shrink before your very eyes, his freakish musculature and tree trunk-sized cock fading away to more human standards. He collapses to a knee as his center of gravity wildly shifts, panting erratically as his head is increasingly freed from the prison of his enormous trapezius muscles. Isabelle is saying something, but you don't hear it, only focused on the scene before you as what was once a mountain of muscle and testosterone finishes his transformation into a tall, fit man somewhere in his late forties. He shakily reaches up, brushing his salt-and-pepper hair from his handsome face, a single dimple stamped onto one cheek as he tries to take in his surroundings through bleary gray eyes.

How in the hell are you going to tell Mom than your father is still alive?