What did Adele see?
The floor of Charles' room was inexplicably shrouded in black mist, with over a dozen knobby ink-green tentacles bearing massive suckers emerging from the gloom. They coiled around Willo's bare voluptuous body!
Adele counted over ten tentacles in motion. Two wrapped her milk-white delicate feet, rubbing against her soles while their tips teased Willo's pearl-like rounded toes.
Four tentacles snaked around her thighs and upper arms, suckers voraciously licking; two more were clasped in Willo's hands, stroked back and forth; another pair constricted her chest's base as if to wring out every last drop of milk!
"Mmm…"
Willo's eyes glazed over. She parted her lips to reveal her pink tongue—instantly ensnared by another questing tentacle. Still straddling Charles and clumsily mimicking Sophia's rocking motions, her unpracticed technique failed to satisfy Charles' current hunger.
The tentacles crushing Willo's chest tightened relentlessly. Sweet goats' milk beaded from her hardened nipples, trickling down her full breasts—its saccharine scent palpable even across the room.
Charles refused to remain passive. Surging upright, he embraced her: "Hattie, take her from behind!"
His murmur pierced the gloom. Adele watched in horror as the thickest tentacle—knobby and oversized—climbed Willo's rounded hips. After secreting slick fluid, it plunged into her tender backdoor!
Adele's vision nearly fractured.
Unthinkable! This is desecration!
She gathered magic to storm the room, but the sight of Hattie—naked on the bed, silently chanting—froze the incantation in Adele's throat.
Memories ambushed her: poisoned Dark Elf blades slicing her clothes, toxins paralyzing her arm that night in the tunnels. She'd been unable to cast complex spells, certain assassins would slit her throat mid-chant. Those very tentacles had saved her then, flooding the passage to trap the killers.
Now, they haunted her with safety—yet defiled her mother.
Willo moaned around her tongue-binding tentacle: "Oh—!"
The invasion deepened. Adele couldn't know their elasticity matched Willo's druidic flexibility—she saw only that calf-thick monstrosity burying half a meter into flesh.
"Woo—!"
Willo's cry twisted with her writhing lower belly—the tentacle within her stirring hungers. But Charles dominated her focus.
He lifted her from the bed. Arms braced under her thighs, he impaled her fully in mid-air!
"Aaah—!"
After licking residual milk from her breasts, he directed suckers to clamp her nipples. Then came his final assault—
Slap-slap-slap!
Wet impacts echoed. Each withdrawal spilled fluids onto the floor. Willo abandoned the tentacles, clawing Charles' shoulders as she wailed. Her nails drew blood—fueling his frenzy.
His machine-gun thrusts hammered her. To Adele, each collision cracked like thunder.
Finally, Charles slammed home. Willo locked her legs around him. White-hot life pulsed into her depths—seed guaranteeing pregnancy without intervention.
Spent, they parted. Adele's mind blanked—she couldn't bear to watch Theresa's turn.
Stumbling to her room, she collapsed into bed. Before sleep claimed her, Hanni's poisonous suggestion echoed:
"What if I'd been there? Taken the tentacles' assault instead? Protected Mother…"
Could… Hanni be right?
...
The next morning.
"Adele, time to get up."
A familiar voice called out. Adele woke from her dreams, quickly replied with a "coming!", then scrambled out of bed, dressed, and opened the door to see her mother, Willo, standing in the doorway. Willo was still wearing her emerald-green druidess mage's robe. Her complexion was radiant, glowing with health and a hint of rosy color—obviously well-rested and in high spirits after a fully satisfying night.
As for Adele's worries about her mother feeling depleted after last night's… tentacle and Charles sandwich—there wasn't even a trace.
"Adele, didn't you go to bed early last night? So why are you up so late?" Willo frowned, a bit of displeasure in her tone as she looked her daughter over, who did indeed seem a little haggard. "Are you picking up some bad habits?"
Adele lowered her head. "No, Mom, I just… I'm still getting used to living while drifting over the lake all the time. It's fine, really. I'll adapt soon… nothing to worry about."
Willo's expression softened a bit at that, and she nodded. "Alright, let's go get breakfast. Once you adjust yourself, I'll work on updating the map."
She turned and walked away. Instinctively, Adele gazed downward. Even beneath what should have been a heavy mage's robe, she could make out the sway of her mother's generous curves as she walked—a subtle, sensual quiver with every step.
Far from looking weak or exhausted, last night's revelry seemed to have left Willo even more alluring and vibrant.
Sniffing softly, Adele forced herself to shake off those wild thoughts, picked up her pace, and followed her mother out.
Outside, she found that although Charles and the others had been up late until the middle of the night, now, early in the morning, every single one of them was up bright and early, all looking healthy and completely refreshed—if anything, even more energized than before.
Everyone was going about their usual routines as if nothing had happened. Only Adele felt a bit awkward, still forcing herself to adapt to this strange, outlandish normalcy...
Seven days passed in a blink. Even though Charles and his group weren't rushing at full speed like on the outbound journey, on this day, the ship docked smoothly at the Darklake outpost.
Such a huge Duergar cargo-ship pulling in, plus a hundred fully-armored Dark Angels—each wielding greatswords and slinging longbows as they marched off in formation—caused quite an uproar in this otherwise small settlement.
However, with all the Dark Angels wearing helmets and visors, hiding their identical faces, the spectacle remained a simple marvel at their military power without provoking any widespread rumors or panic.
News of Charles's heavily-armed group swept the town—every local power became extremely wary. After all, this force could trample nearly any smaller faction in the region in just a moment, and so every group stayed on guard.
Luckily, Charles had zero interest in wiping any of them out. After his companions all disembarked with their things, he turned back—looking at the now-empty ship, the hovering, disabled beholder Lotuen, and the Duergar captives, who looked even chubbier after weeks of good food. Charles called out, "Thanks, everyone, for your weeks of hard rowing. Now, I hereby declare—you're all free!"
"This is a small town, with plenty of your Duergar kin here trading. Go find them—and from now on, cut out the lake-bandit nonsense. Go live honest lives!"
He spoke, and all the Duergar's eyes widened with shock. Most of them had stopped hoping Charles would keep his word; some were even plotting escapes—though with the excellent food and no good opportunity, they'd never actually tried it.
They weren't expecting him to follow through, and now gratitude washed over them. After a quick "Thanks to the Goddess of Life for her compassion," they shuffled straight off the ship and headed into the market.
Once they were gone, Charles turned to the beholder and spoke quietly, "Lotuen, I'm giving you this ship. How's that sound?"
Lotuen, squinting, had been waiting to see what Charles would do with the vessel—he was stunned by such an unexpected gift. "What, me?"
Charles nodded slightly. "Yup. I can't take this ship with me, and I wasn't going to stay in the Underdark long-term anyway."
"It'll be more useful to you. So, it's yours now. Sound good?"
Lotuen's eyestalks danced with excitement, showing just how thrilled he was. "Wow… Just this ship is worth a hundred thousand gold! And you're just giving it away like that?!"
Charles laughed softly. "Of course. Oh, and since this whole trip was at Jarlaxle's request, don't bother asking him for any more payment."
From the moment he arrived in the Underdark, Lotuen had gone above and beyond—freely sharing his private maps, personally guiding Charles, leading him to Sulpharlo herself.
And through it all, Lotuen hadn't once mentioned compensation. Charles knew it wasn't because the beholder loved doing favors for free; someone else had covered the cost.
He hadn't been told outright, but he could guess. Jarlaxle wanted to build up goodwill—a favor for the future.
But Charles wasn't interested in owing him.
He knew Jarlaxle was the type to operate everywhere, walking both sides of the moral line, and always scheming for bigger goals. If he owed this guy a personal favor, he'd find himself unable to refuse a call for help someday, and whatever he had to pay could be way more than today's cost.
Now, with the ship he couldn't keep, he could pay Lotuen—and get square with Jarlaxle by giving him the most basic knight's badge. Nothing more owed.
Hearing all this, Lotuen flashed a mischievous smile. "If you do that, Jarlaxle's going to be really disappointed, you know."
Charles shrugged. "Business is business. I'm not one to leave debts hanging. So, we're square."
With that, he walked off the ship, waved goodbye to Lotuen, and called out, "Guess this is farewell. Hope we meet again when you're flush with cash and power, my friend!"
Lotuen raised an eyestalk in salute, trembling with glee. Charles and his party wasted no time and hurried away—aiming to return to the surface as quickly as possible and let the Dark Angel girls finally see the sun again.
As they swept through the racial markets, everyone they passed couldn't help but stare. Hanni lingered at the rear of the group, casting Longstrider on herself to keep up, but still ambling slow. Her nose was still buried in Sulpharlo's research, eyes glued so tight you'd think she was about to bore holes through the pages.
Nymeria, walking next to her and munching a snack bought off a street stall, kept grumbling warnings about "ruining your eyes," but Hanni never listened.
It was just then that a dark figure stepped in front of them, speaking in Elvish with a serious tone: "I remember you—you're Miss Hanni Harren, right?"
"Your mother, Madam Zora Harren, arrived two days ago. She's waiting to see you."
Nymeria beamed with joy. "Hanni, your mom's here! That's great, you can finally go home!"
But Hanni barely reacted, mumbling, "Mm, got it, but let me just finish reading this last bit…"
Up ahead, hearing the ruckus behind, Charles turned and glanced back at Hanni, his gaze contemplative.
He'd noticed: ever since Charles handed Hanni Sulpharlo's research, the Dark Elf had practically done nothing but read, day and night. If not for her naturally dark skin, she'd probably have had big black circles under her eyes by now.
That convinced him—she truly wanted to learn something from it.
He wasn't worried; the notes were all in Sulpharlo's own hand, spanning over a thousand volumes—at least twenty million words, plus countless diagrams. Even skim-reading, what could Hanni really grasp in just seven days?
So he simply watched her, then called softly, "Hanni, return the research now. You should go home."
Hearing his voice, Hanni finally looked up, pitifully. "Can I keep it a few more days, please, Priest? I'm almost finished—I promise I'll have it sent to your town when I'm done."
Charles smiled kindly, but shook his head firmly. "No, right now, hand it all over."
Hanni pouted, murmured, "So stingy," then stuffed the last notes into the Bag of Holding and handed it over. "Here—they're all in there."
Charles took the bag, checked its contents, and after verifying everything was in order, nodded at her.
Finally, Hanni turned to the messenger and said with a hint of impatience, "So where's my mom? Let's go already."
She paused, then spun around to beam an angelic smile at Charles. "Oh, and Priest Charles, Miss Nymeria—you two come along as well! You saved me, I still haven't thanked you properly!"
Charles shook his head. "No need; we're in a hurry. We've got to get moving."
But Hanni darted forward, hugging his arm and rubbing her face against it, "Come on, it won't take long. My mom definitely has a reward waiting! You can just pick it up and go."
"Promise—it won't delay you one bit!"
With a pleading look, Charles couldn't come up with a good excuse to refuse. He glanced down at Hanni's snow-white hair, considering her true intentions, and nodded, "Alright. Let's go see."
~~~
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