Jennifer's eyes snapped open in the dark.
The mansion bedroom was silent, save for Natasha's soft breathing beside her. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting silver patterns on the sheets.
Jennifer lay still for a moment, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach. The tingling had grown stronger—warm, insistent, like a heartbeat not her own pulsing beneath her skin.
The dream hadn't been a dream. It had been real. The unknown eldritch god had forced himself upon her, and now... this.
She sat up slowly, naked skin prickling in the cool air. Natasha stirred but didn't wake, her arm falling limp across the empty space Jennifer left behind.
Jennifer's mind raced—suppressed power making her thoughts feel slower, more human. The pregnancy. The fetus inside her. Eldritch. Hybrid. Growing.
She couldn't keep it.
Not like this.
Not forced.
She slipped out of bed, padded barefoot to the balcony. The city lights twinkled below, indifferent. She placed a hand on her navel, feeling the subtle swell, the life stirring within.
It was early—hours old, perhaps—but accelerating. She could sense it with her 1% active power: the baby's essence was already vast, hungry, drawing on something deeper than biology.
She closed her eyes.
And unsuppressed.
The 99% rushed back like a dam breaking—power flooding every cell, every atom. Infinity surged through her veins. Space bent to her will. Time whispered secrets. Reality shimmered like clay in her hands. Minds across the city flickered like candles she could snuff or ignite. Souls pulsed in the distance. Power roared infinite.
She was whole again.
Omnipotent.
She snapped her fingers—soft, deliberate.
Space folded.
She teleported to Mars.
Her Mars—the paradise she had created. Blue sky arched overhead, dotted with clean white clouds. The air was fresh, scented with pine and wildflowers.
Lakes glittered in the distance, oceans lapped at red-sand shores turned green with grass. Animals moved in herds—deer grazing, birds wheeling, wolves howling faintly on the wind. No humans. No threats. Just perfection.
She stood naked on a grassy hill, wind lifting her hair. The sun—filtered gently—warmed her skin. She placed both hands on her stomach.
The fetus stirred—stronger now, as if sensing her power.
She willed the stones to act.
All six—fused into her soul—responded as one.
Reality twisted. Time accelerated. Space compressed. Power surged. Souls aligned. Minds focused.
She intended to erase it.
To unmake the pregnancy. To dissolve the fetus back into nothing—atoms scattered, essence undone. No pain. No remnant. Just gone.
But the baby... resisted.
It didn't fight.
It absorbed.
The Power Stone's energy flowed first—raw, violent force meant to obliterate. But the fetus drank it like milk, pulling the purple essence from her soul into its tiny form.
Jennifer gasped.
The Soul Stone followed—orange light bleeding from her core, drawn into the womb like a vacuum. She felt her dominion over life essence slip, tugged away.
"No," she whispered.
The Reality Stone—red, twisting—warped toward the fetus, rewriting its own path to merge with the child instead of erasing it.
Time accelerated the process—the green glow speeding the birth, compressing months into minutes.
Space collapsed the distance between her soul and the womb, making the transfer instantaneous.
Mind—blue/yellow—flowed last, intelligence and control flooding the fetus.
Jennifer screamed—a goddess's wail that shook the Martian plains, sending birds scattering into the sky.
The stones—her stones—were leaving her.
One by one, they unfused from her soul, absorbed into the baby's body.
Power rendered her mortal.
She fell to her knees, naked on the grass, body convulsing as the infinite left her.
The suppression she had chosen before was nothing compared to this—true mortality rushing back like cold water.
Her strength faded. Her healing slowed. Her senses dulled.
The baby—empowered now, infinite—sped its own birth.
Pain tore through her—real, raw, human pain.
Her womb contracted. Her back arched. She screamed again, hands digging into the earth.
The birth was fast—too fast.
Minutes instead of hours.
She pushed, sweat pouring down her face, moans turning to guttural cries as the child emerged.
A boy.
Tiny at first—newborn size—but already glowing with six colors: blue, green, orange, purple, red, yellow.
He cried once—a sound like universes being born—then fell silent.
Jennifer collapsed back, panting, body exhausted, mortal now in full.
The boy floated up—levitating on his own power.
He was beautiful—dark hair like hers, eyes that shifted colors with the stones inside him.
He descended gently to her chest.
She was too weak to move—mortal fatigue crashing over her.
The boy latched onto her breast.
Sucked.
Her milk flowed—warm, nourishing, infinite in its own way even as she lay depleted.
He nursed for 20 minutes—slow, deliberate, his tiny hands clutching her skin.
Jennifer moaned—low, exhausted, the sensation mixing pain and a strange, maternal pleasure. Her body responded, milk flowing freely, her goddess-like voice reduced to human whimpers.
The boy drank deeply, eyes closed, absorbing not just nourishment but the last echoes of her power.
When he finished one breast, he switched to the other—20 minutes in total, his sucking rhythmic, insistent.
Jennifer's moans grew softer, her body relaxing against her will, the act drawing out every drop.
Then he pulled away.
Floated lower.
To her navel.
His tiny mouth pressed against the spot where the stones had once entered her.
He kissed it—deeply, tongue darting out like a serpent's, probing the sensitive skin.
For 10 minutes.
Jennifer screamed—ecstatic, overwhelmed, her voice echoing across the Martian valley like a goddess's final lament.
The boy's tongue moved in circles, delving deep, tasting the remnants of infinity in her flesh.
Pleasure surged through her—erotic, forbidden, making her arch and moan louder, her hands clutching the grass.
The boy enjoyed it—his tiny face serene, eyes glowing with stone colors.
10 minutes of unrelenting, deep navel kiss—tongue exploring every fold, every inch.
Jennifer's screams peaked, then faded to whimpers.
Then the boy pulled back.
Floated up.
Looked at her with eyes that held universes.
Snapped his tiny fingers.
He teleported away—to somewhere unknown, perhaps beyond even her old reach.
In the same snap, Jennifer was teleported back.
To her mansion.
To her bed.
Naked, exhausted, mortal.
Natasha still slept beside her—unaware.
Jennifer curled into a ball, hand on her empty womb.
Tears came.
Mortal tears.
She was free.
And alone.
In a way she had never been.